


No Mercy For the Weak of Heart: A Fire Emblem: Three Houses Story

by panda_reads



Series: Seasonal Affections (Fire Emblem: Three Houses) [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adults Discussing Philosophy & Other Uncomfortable Subjects, Angst and Drama, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Ghosts, Hearing Voices, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Emotion, Love, M/M, Married Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Minor Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rescue Missions, Romance, The Blue Lions Boys to the Rescue, They Are Not Nice Voices, haunted forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_reads/pseuds/panda_reads
Summary: The Verzhed Woods are rumored to be haunted, and some refuse to enter. When the archbishop disappears while riding in the woods, and her guards return injured, the king and his friends set out ot search. The archbishop and the royal party are not helpless and war has taught them how to survive, even when separated and facing a haunted forest and its many unseen dangers. Experience has its limits, though, and in the chill of fall, an enemy sets their sights on the warmth of a silent heart.Series: Seasonal Affections, Part 3: Fall
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Seasonal Affections (Fire Emblem: Three Houses) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921654
Comments: 25
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Approx. 2 years post-war phase; two months after Part 2: Summer
> 
> Title from: ‘Son of the Wolf’ – Shawn James & The Shapeshifters (‘The Wolf – EP,’ 2013)

The Verzhed Woods formed a barrier to the west of Garreg Mach Monastery. The forest covered a vast stretch of territory from the monastery to the former Empire’s boundaries. It was home to a vast array of wildlife and terrain. Deer, elk, massive bears, the odd badger, and endless numbers of squirrels roamed and raced through the mossy, rocky soil. Two long creeks slithered through the rocks and trees, crystal clear waters that the sun barely touched through the thick tree canopy. The leaves and branches wove tightly together, creating a ceiling of wood and vegetation, green giving way to red and gold as fall fell upon on Fódlan.

The trails were wide, serving as through-paths to the former Empire territories, though they were nearly empty of travelers, save for one, a woman dressed in black trousers and shirt and a blue and black riding hooded riding cloak. Trotting along the path toward Garreg Mach, the rider guided her horse, a grey mare with a lustrous black and silver mane. Birds chirped and soared among the trees, and the rider smiled, inhaling deeply the scent of fall.

_What a beautiful day._

She gave the horse a gentle nudge, and picked up the pace a bit. The horse was a sturdy animal, well-suited to long rides. It wasn’t often that the rider had the opportunity to spend so much time alone with her own thoughts, to simply recuperate in nature, listening to it, instead of the constant chatter of people.

Byleth Eisner Blaiddyd, Queen of Faerghus to some, Archbishop of the Church of Seiros to many others, had nearly screamed with delight at not having to listen to people talk for just one day. One day, with nothing to do, no plans to make or fulfill, no obligations to see to, just one single beautiful day in fall, where she could just _be_. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d simply had a day to herself, with no one demanding her time or attention.

She did not dislike people. On the contrary, she liked to sit and listen to people tell stories, ask questions, sometimes ask for advice, other time argue with one another. She liked politics, history, the odd fairy tale, and greatly enjoyed listening to one of her friends tell ghost stories late at night. Fall brought overcast days, gloomy weather, and, frequently, the desire to curl up with a hot cup of tea and a book.

_If I can’t be home, at least I can be comfortable in thoughts of home._

Home was not Garreg Mach, not truly. This month, yes, it was where she ate, slept, exercised, and lived, but it was not _home_. Home was elsewhere, or anywhere, so long as the person she loved most was present. Her husband, her dearest friend, her partner in all things, the King of Faerghus, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, was _home_ to her. After a lifetime as a mercenary, to find herself in these positions and roles was quite something. Even ten years before, when she was just old enough to start thinking about a life beyond mercenary work with her father, she had never envisioned this life.

_The Archbishop and the Queen. You would be astounded, Father, by what I’ve become. I’m not sure I believe it myself, sometimes. It’s quite the life. It’s frustrating at times, but I don’t think I could live any other way._

_Though it is nice to get away once in a while._

Today’s ride was a rare treat. Being alone was an impossibility in the monastery; there was always someone wanting her attention, even on the most mundane of matters. She didn’t mind, but, goddess, even she needed a break sometimes.

_And in the next few days, I’ll have that break._

She’d received a messenger hawk two days prior, carrying one of Dimitri’s letters. He did not write long letters; he preferred to share brief ideas, frustrations, concerns, and sometimes sentiments. Occasionally, she would receive a long letter in one of the merchant caravans that came through the monastery villages, and in those, she would find his more detailed thoughts, carefully written out, the pen smeared in places, as though written when he should have been doing other things, like sleeping.

Those longer letters were usually written in the aftermath of a troubling day, or after a nightmare. She could tell the difference in his penmanship during those times. Troubled days were scribbled complaints, vented irritation with nobles who just couldn’t seem to grasp that even his patience had its limits. Nightmares left his hands shaking, and the first few paragraphs would be nearly-indecipherable. The nightmares tended along similar lines, narratives that existed in his own mind, stories he’d told himself so many times that he couldn’t differentiate the false from the real. Those letters always ended the same: _“I wish, above all things, that you were here. I am forever yours.”_

She missed him terribly after those letters, wished she could be with him, to soothe the hurt, the post-nightmare fear. She knew the terrible feeling of enduring nightmares alone, though she at least had a large ginger cat sharing her quarters at Garreg Mach. If she had nightmares, she could just cuddle the enormous beast, cry into its fur if she had to, and it would purr and console her. Dimitri had no such comfort when he was alone, and she knew there were times he simply could not bring himself to wake Dedue, because no one else needed to know what monsters lived in Dimitri’s own head.

_Those monsters won’t trouble you so long as I’m around,_ she thought. _One day, we’ll always be together, and no monster will ever haunt your dreams again._

The monsters were always there, though Byleth was not afraid of them. She didn’t know if she ever had been, not even at his worst. She’d seen him change from a serious, kind young man into a stranger with bloodlust and rage in his heart and mind, and evolve again into a fusion of the two. She knew him as a strong, capable warrior, a kind king devoted to his people and Faerghus, but always keeping his solitary eye on old enemies, old rivalries, prepared for anything. Only months ago, an unknown enemy had emerged, prepared to kill both Dimitri and Byleth. Byleth had taken the blade, protected her husband, and he had slain their would-be assassin.

They’d spent three months apart after that. She’d stayed at Garreg Mach, focused on her duties, lost in obligation. He had remained in Fhirdiad, ruling, judging, fulfilling his role as king. Three months apart had been too much, even if neither was truly to blame for it. Near-death experiences did things to people, shook and shattered them in unseen ways, even when those people were partners in all things.

During the heat of summer, a foolish priest’s cruel accusation that Dimitri was responsible for Byleth being put in danger had left Dimitri shaken in mind and soul. He’d arrived at Garreg Mach alone, worried, a shadow falling upon him, his heart fearful. Together, they’d addressed their scars, their separation, and then proceeded to have a glorious sparring bout in front of a good portion of the monastery’s knights. The sparring bout – seven matches, two complete wins and losses each, and three ties – had left them sore, energized, and, she believed, more committed than ever.

_And if a good sparring match with the love of your life leaves you sore and exhausted, but with enough energy to remind you that you’re still alive, then it’s a good thing._

She tightened the riding cloak around her shoulders, thinking fondly of her beloved husband. He’d called her that on the night she’d intended to propose, and it had stuck. Then he’d beaten her to the proposal by seconds, and she’d laughed and laughed with him, watching his face shift from peerless warrior to tongue-tied young man, before settling into an enormous, rare grin, a genuine smile just for her.

He had a different smile, one that frightened some of their friends, a wolfish, predator’s smile, reserved for enemies, or those he did not know. He was sometimes still like the beast he’d once claimed to be in that regard, and was usually reserved around strangers, though never hostile unless given a reason to be. To her, he was simply Dimitri, a warrior, a compassionate, kind man, always haunted but no longer a prisoner to ghosts. She loved him with all she had, and could not imagine her life without him.

The riding cloak was his, an old thing she’d found in the dormitories shortly after he’d returned to Fhirdiad in summer. The cloak smelled of weapon oil and silver shavings, and ever so slightly of horse. She’d argued fiercely with the servant who handled laundry that it just needed a dunking in hot soapy water, nothing too serious. She hadn’t been able to fully explain to the servant just how important it was that it kept its scent, and the woman had finally taken the cloak, hung it on a line, and hit it multiple times with a stick to get the moths and dust out of it.

Smiling, she lifted the hood, rubbed her nose against the soft interior. It still smelled like him, and she suspected it was from his time as a student; perhaps he’d brought to the monastery all those years ago, something to keep him warm on the long rides he loved. She could picture him, younger, shyer, content with his own company, wrapped contentedly in a warm cloak that she imagined reminded him of home, of happier times.

_This might be one of the few possessions you had when you came here for the first time. Growing up, I rarely had more than the clothes on my back and a blade to call my own._

He’d had roughly the same when she’d found him in the monastery during the war, alone, trapped in a cycle of madness and death, until he regained his senses. Even after, he’d had that great furred cloak, his armor, and Areadbhar, his father’s lance. He had little else, though he’d claimed a war horse from one of their skirmishes with the Empire.

Eburos, the horse, had been more than just a faithful steed for Dimitri. He’d been a teacher, too, and it was during those few quiet moments between battles, that Dimitri had taught Byleth to like horses, to earn their trust, their quirks and impish ways. Eburos had terrified her at first, with his great height and build, but now, she liked long rides as much as her husband did, especially as fall set in.

She smiled, inhaling the scent from the cloak again. _You’re never getting this back; it’s mine now. You’ll have to get a new one._

_Then I can steal that one, too._

She surprised herself by chuckling softly. Her beautiful grey horse, Isa, snorted at the sound.

“Sorry,” Byleth said, patting the horse’s neck. “Maybe we should dig around in the dormitories more. I’ll bet all of them left some things behind. We can make you an entire collection of Blue Lions memorabilia.”

Isa snorted again.

“You don’t like that idea, huh?” Byleth smiled. “Well, let’s get back to the monastery. I’m sure you _do_ like the idea of dinner.”

The horse clicked her tongue, as if to say, _Food will get you everywhere._

Byleth laughed, gave Isa a gentle kick. “Come on, pretty girl. Let’s get back.” _To our temporary home._

* * *

They emerged from the trail to find two wyvern riders waiting. Emilie and Hayden were experienced guards, and both greeted her with a hearty, “Hello, Your Grace!”

Byleth laughed. “Don’t tell me you two waited here all day for me to get back.”

“Not at all,” Hayden said. “We flew south about fifteen miles, surveyed a signing, and got back just in time to meet you.” He was an eager young man, with bright green eyes and a head full of unruly red hair. Nothing he did tamed those strands.

Emilie was slightly more serious than her twin, and wore her hair tied back in an elaborate braid. “How was the trail, Your Grace?”

“Refreshing,” Byleth admitted. “No trouble at all.” She smiled. “We’ll keep it between us that you didn’t follow me in.”

“The wyverns have trouble in there,” Hayden said. “They can’t quite get the terrain right.”

“Maybe we should test them a bit,” Emilie said. “We could go with you next time.”

“What do you think, Isa?” Byleth asked her horse. “Would you like company tomorrow?”

The horse whinnied.

“Is that a ‘yes?’” Hayden wondered. “I can’t tell.”

Isa stomped her hooves.

“I think she’s saying she’d like you to join us tomorrow, Hayden,” Byleth said.

Hayden’s eyes went wide. “What? On a horse? Your Grace, I’m really not _good_ with horses. Wyverns are much easier to ride. Horses are… well… they’re big, and they’re a little scary, and, and you’re much better at riding than I am.”

“I used to be scared of horses, too, Hayden.”

“What, you? Really? That can’t be true.” Hayden shook his head. “No, I refuse to believe that.”

Byleth laughed. “I assure you, it’s quite true.”

Emilie pursed her lips. “Hay, show a little respect.”

“He’s fine,” Byleth said, smiling. “I don’t mind. Talk to me like a normal person. I’ve told you both that before.”

“Right, Em,” Hayden said. “Her Grace is just like us. We can be a little relaxed.”

“Not _that_ relaxed,” Emilie said, wrinkling her nose. She surveyed the Verzhed Woods. “You didn’t run into any trouble, Your Grace?”

“None at all,” Byleth assured her. “It was quiet as can be.”

“See, Em,” Hayden said. “Nothing to worry about. I told you Her Grace is all right on her own. Seteth worries too much.”

“I disagree. Seteth worries just enough.” Emilie looked at Byleth. “Are you sure nothing happened, Your Grace?”

“Emilie, what can I say to convince you?”

Emilie’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but the woods aren’t really safe.”

Byleth gave her a dazzling smile. “Emilie, I’ve ridden plenty of times in Verzhed without any problems. Tell you what, you can come with me tomorrow, if you’re really worried.”

“Oh, ah, if it’s all right, I’ll probably just keep watch out here. Hayden can go with you.”

“I already told you the wyverns don’t do well in those trees,” Hayden said, far too quickly. “And I’m not good with horses.”

Byleth looked between them, and guided Isa forward into the browning grass. “Something bothers you both about the Verzhed Woods.”

“What?”

“No, Your Grace, no.”

“Right,” Byleth said. She gave Isa’s reins a gentle tug, turning her back towards the trees.

“Wait!”

“Stop!”

“Hah! I knew it.”

Emilie’s cheeks were scarlet with embarrassment. “We’ve heard stories about the Woods since we were children. Our gran used to tell us not to go too far in, or bad things might happen.”

“People hid out in there during the war, and some of them never came out again,” Hayden added.

Their reactions surprised Byleth. She’d found the Verzhed Woods relaxing, even soothing. “Really? You’ll have to tell me all about those stories.”

“I’d rather not,” Emilie said nervously.

Hayden sat up straighter on his wyvern’s saddle. Boldly, he said, “Hey, Your Grace, I’ll go riding with you tomorrow. I’ll face my fears of the horse and the Woods. How hard could it be?”

“That’s the spirit,” Byleth said, smiling. “Now, come on. I’ll race you back to Garreg Mach.”


	2. Chapter 2

The two wyvern riders whooped with excitement as they approached the monastery. Byleth laughed, her cloak and long hair flying behind her as Isa galloped along the road. The sun was just starting to set as they entered the village below Garreg Mach and raced up the hill to the vast stone walls. Villagers cheered as the Archbishop and guards dashed by, Byleth and Isa gaining a bit of ground with teach step, while Emilie and Hayden urged each other on, and their mounts beat their wings ever faster.

They reached the monastery stables, and Hayden just managed to land ahead of Byleth. “I beat you!” he crowed. “I can’t believe it! I won!”

Byleth laughed, caught her breath, and dismounted. Isa stomped her hooves, desperate to be free of her riding gear. The stable boy, Gabriel, raced out of the stables, and helped. Byleth stroked Isa’s neck, petted her nose. “That’s my good girl,” she soothed. “That’s my girl.” She looked at Gabriel. “I’ll bring her some fresh fruit later and I’ll brush her. Would you take care of her now, please? I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The boy beamed. “Also, Seteth came by a little while ago. He was looking for you.”

“Thank you,” Byleth said. She petted Isa again. “I’ll be back with some fruit, and we’ll brush your lovely mane. How does that sound?”

The horse snuffled, and rubbed her nose against Byleth’s hair. Byleth petted her again, walked out of the stable. She found Emilie and Hayden teasing each other, and getting their wyverns ready to return to their roost. “Thank you, both,” Byleth told the siblings. “That was a lot of fun. I’m glad you joined me.”

“You know, Your Grace,” Hayden said, “I’m going with you tomorrow. I’m going to get over my fear of horses, too! Just you watch.”

“Overnight?”

“It isn’t that hard, right?”

Byleth shrugged. “It took me a few weeks.”

“Oh.” Hayden looked at his wyvern. “Well, maybe we can get some practice on the terrain, eh, Trout?”

“’Trout?’”

“It’s his favorite food.”

Byleth laughed, and approached Trout the wyvern. The great beast peered at her with intelligent yellow eyes. She extended her hand, let it sniff her, then it poked its nose against her palm. Its skin was scaly and cool to the touch. “Hello, Trout,” Byleth said. “We’ll have a grand little adventure tomorrow, won’t we?”

Hayden beamed. “I can’t wait, Your Grace. Emilie will wait for us outside the Woods. She’s too scared to go in.”

“Don’t tell her that!” Emilie protested. “I’m not scared of the Verzhed Woods!”

“You’ll have to prove it, Em.”

“Ugh, you’re horrible, Hay. And you’re scared, too.”

Byleth laughed. “That settles it. You’ll both come with me.”

Emilie sighed. “I guess we all have to get over our fears sometime, don’t we?”

“Fear is good for us,” Byleth said. “It keeps us on our toes. Learning to face our fears, though? That makes us strong.”

Emilie smiled at that. “All right, fine. I’m in,” she said.

Hayden pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! We’re going to have fun. And then we’ll race you back, Your Grace. I’ll win again, I promise you.”

Byleth folded her arms. “All right. I’m holding you to that.” She smiled at them. “Get some rest, you two. Thanks for riding back with me.”

“Anytime, Your Grace.” They bowed to her. She bowed her head in return, and headed for the audience chamber and Seteth’s office.

* * *

Seteth was seated at his desk, reading papers. “Ah, there you are.”

Byleth waved her hand in greeting. “Hello, Seteth.”

“And how was your ride?”

“Relaxing.”

“Well, hopefully this won’t ruin that state.” He handed her a scroll. “A messenger hawk from Rowen arrived a few hours ago for you.”

She unfurled the scroll, read the message aloud for Seteth’s benefit.

_Your Grace –_

_We are staying in Rowen overnight. The horses need a break, and so do I after a day and a half of riding. I can’t stand another moment of one person chattering while everyone else is silent. Take your guess as to who can’t shut up. We will see you by mid-afternoon tomorrow._

_Faithfully yours, FHF_

Seteth looked up from his paperwork. “It sounds like your entourage is making good time. Do you plan to stay in Garreg Mach?”

“I think for two or three days, and then I’ll go back to Fhirdiad with them.”

“Very good. I will assume your duties in your absence. Fear not, Your Grace.”

“I never worry when you’re around, Seteth. Thank you.” Byleth re-read the message. “Who can’t shut up… Dedue doesn’t like to talk unnecessarily, Dimitri prefers silence when he’s riding, so I suspect it’s Sylvain driving Felix mad.”

“Master Gautier is quite the chatterbox.”

“He has his moments.” She smiled. “It will be good to see them.”

“Should we prepare a royal welcome, or something more subdued?”

“No need for a fancy greeting. Besides, Emilie and Hayden want to practice maneuvers in the Verzhed Woods, so I think we’ll go for another ride in the morning.”

“The Woods give a good challenge. I’m sure the wyverns will enjoy it.”

“They’re smart, aren’t they?”

“Quite smart.” Seteth nodded. “They need a good challenge, or they get bored. They’re much like horses in that way.”

She nodded. “Maybe a good challenge on the central trail, then. There’s a lot of room to maneuver on either side, though the wyverns will have to be careful with their wings.”

“That sounds like an excellent test.” Seteth smiled. “And I know how much you, as a former teacher, love to see students pass tests.”

“I do, and Emilie and Hayden are both quite skilled.”

“They are.” Seteth stood from his desk. “Well, Your Grace, would you care to join me for dinner? I believe there is grilled fish on the menu today.”

“That sounds lovely. Let me get cleaned up from my ride, and I’ll meet you. Let’s say an hour?”

“An hour it is.” He bobbed his head. “I will meet you then.”

Byleth hurried out of Seteth’s office, headed to the third-floor stairs. She found the ginger cat curled up contentedly on the bed in her chambers, gave it an affectionate pat on the head. Normally, she would take a bath in the washroom, but she decided the bathhouse would do for now. She gathered some clean clothes, bundled them up, and headed back down the stairs, out of the monastery’s main keep and towards the sauna and bathhouse.

A quick dip in the bath was all she needed, though she took a moment to rinse her hair thoroughly. Clean and dry, she dressed in a simple black dress. She raced back to her chambers, expected she was just within her hour time limit. She found a dark blue scarf, draped it around her shoulders, and retrieved a pair of soft black boots. Dressed and presentable, she descended the stairs for the dining hall.

Seteth was punctual as ever. He smiled. “Your Grace.”

“Seteth.”

“Shall we dine?”

“We shall.”

They entered the dining hall, full of lively civilians and knights, chattering and laughing. It was quite the sight, one that warmed Byleth’s heart, an assurance that peacetime was a reality, and that people were genuinely happy. The monastery represented so much to so many, and she was glad she could be a part of it.

_As lovely as this place is, I will be happy to be back in Fhirdiad. I am looking forward to being home._

They sat down with their meals: grilled trout and vegetables, and small chocolate tarts for dessert. The trout had a particular spice to it, an earthy, intense flavor, not like the usual garlic or lemon the cooks used on fish. Byleth chewed, trying to identify the familiar taste. “Duscur,” she said finally.

“Hm?” Seteth was clearly enjoying his own meal. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “This is delicious. What was it you said?”

“This tastes like food from Duscur,” she said, smiling.

“Ah, does Dedue cook like this?”

“His cooking is more focused, but this is very close.” She ate another bite. “I wonder if one of the cooks is trying to impress him.”

“That would be quite the sight.”

Byleth nodded. “When I was teaching, we cooked together sometimes. He was always so patient.”

“Flayn learned well from him. She admired his skills a great deal, and strived to emulate him.” Seteth smiled patiently. “She has improved greatly, though I recall your days teaching, and how Dimitri was the only one who could stomach her cooking.” He speared a piece of fish with his fork. “Then again, when one trains as often and as diligently as he does, I imagine that food is more fuel, not necessarily consumed for taste.”

“Ah, but look how much Flayn has improved thanks to Mercedes’s guidance on sweets.”

“Those cookies they made were quite good, if a bit sweet for my preference. Still, they were lovely with tea.” Seteth’s smile turned fond. “You changed so many lives here, and not just with your students. You saved and changed Flayn’s life, and you refocused mine.”

“I just helped you break out of your shells.”

Seteth snorted. “Hardly. You showed me that we could be safe in one place, and then you made it a reality. Truthfully, I would not change that for anything.” He smiled. “I consider you a friend. I know that many choices in your life have been made for you. Whatever her intentions, Rhea placed a heavy burden on you.”

“If my father had survived, I don’t know if she would have done it.”

“We cannot know what might have been.” Seteth waved his hand. “I believe I can speak for Jeralt by saying how proud I am of you, and that I am grateful that you and His Majesty have found a way to balance your lives. I know that it is not easy.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing him, and then spending some time in the capital.”

“I will look after Garreg Mach in your absence.” Seteth looked at her, a touch of melancholy in his eyes. “It is important to take all the time we can with those we love.”

Byleth bowed her head. “Thank you for understanding. I appreciate your support, Seteth. Always.”

“I am happy to give it. Rhea and I may have disagreed on many things, and I do not like the many secrets she kept from us both. However, you have made your life your own, despite all of her intentions. She respects your life, and will not interfere. She has agreed to remain in Zanado; the Church of Seiros is in your hands. Between you and His Majesty, Fódlan will continue to have a bright future.”

“It’s hard to believe that just over two years ago, we were at war.”

“Yet we are at peace, because of you.”

“It wasn’t just me.”

“You were the heart of an army, Your Grace. Without you, there would be no unified Fódlan.”

She felt her cheeks reddening. “Dimitri would have eventually come around.”

Seteth gave her a skeptical look. “Byleth,” he said quietly, “you and I both know that isn’t the case. If you hadn’t come back, he would have thrown himself into an early grave, perhaps died on some imperial sword, and there would be nothing left.”

“I know,” she said, equally quiet.

“I don’t mean to darken your mood.”

“You didn’t.” She gave him a tense smile. “Sometimes, I think about how much I don’t know about myself, and I feel, I’m not sure, strange. I think about how much I missed, and how this power, whatever it is, saved my life, saved my friends, my loved ones.” She picked up her tea cup. “Sometimes, I wonder if it’s me, or if it’s the power, that people were drawn to.”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Do I?”

Seteth drummed his fingertips on the table. “We did not get along particularly well when we first met. I thought you were an unknown, and far too young to be teaching students. You were practically their age, and instructing them in all manner of things. You changed my mind about you, Byleth, not the power you wield. Yes, you changed in appearance after Jeralt’s death, after Edelgard’s allies tried to kill you, but _you_ did not change. You were still you, no matter your hair and eye color.”

“So, the power didn’t interest you?”

“I would be lying if I said it didn’t. Most everyone would be lying if they said they weren’t drawn to the power you have. However, I think it’s clear that your friends were drawn to _you_ , not the power. They didn’t care about that. They cared about you.” Seteth extended his hand. “I assure you, Byleth, that power is but one part of you. Yes, there are things you will never understand about yourself, secrets you will never know, but would you sacrifice who you are, including that power, to learn those truths?”

She had to think about that.

_My father took me away from this place because he was afraid of something. He was mourning my mother, but also afraid of Rhea. He knew something, but he could never put it into words. My father cared for me, my father loved me, no matter how strange I was, and no matter what power resided within._

_Dimitri sought me out even when he was insane. We fell in love, and he was drawn to_ me _, not the power I have. My friends, they stayed at my side, they were loyal to_ me _, not the power._

_This power saved their lives in Fhirdiad. Without it, they would be gone, and I would be dead or alone._

She let out a breath. “Thank you, Seteth,” she said. “You’re right. I wouldn’t sacrifice any of who or what I am.”

He nodded approvingly. “Magic, skills, power, they are all gifts. When you learn to master them, nothing can touch you.”

She tilted her head. “So, what secrets do you know the answers to, Seteth?”

“Not enough,” he admitted. “What I do know are fractured answers, and Rhea will not give me more. Admittedly, I stopped asking a while ago. She has her reasons, her secrets, but, as I said, she remains in Zanado.”

Byleth looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should—”

“No,” he said sharply.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“If you planned to say that you should visit, I must advise against it. In the strongest terms.”

Suspicious, she looked at him. “Why?”

He pursed his lips. “Rhea has dictated enough of your life, Byleth. While I still trust her, I cannot guarantee she will remain restrained or sensible when it comes to you.”

“She’s spoken maybe a dozen words to me since we rescued her in Enbarr.”

“Five years changed you both, though while you slept, she waited. You are Rhea’s weakness, in a way. I cannot speak to what she is looking for, or what she hoped for with you. There are too many variables, too many unknowns.”

Byleth folded her arms on the table, listening.

“Our weaknesses are found in the people and things we love, or think we love, most,” Seteth said. “These are also our strengths. Rhea will never share her secrets, but she will respect boundaries, because she loves you.”

Byleth hunched her shoulders

“I cannot explain how she loves you; it is not a parent’s love, like Jeralt felt, and it is not romantic. I simply know that she loves you, and that makes you her greatest weakness. You speak so casually of seeing her again, but I fear for you if you ever go near Zanado. I do not know what Rhea will do.”

She frowned.

 _Rhea_ was _drawn to my power, to Sothis’s bond with me. She loves the goddess, not me. It was only ever about the power for her, only ever about what I could_ be _for her. Like that night in the Holy Tomb, when I sat on the throne. She expected something grand to happen, and instead, I just turned out to be me. Sothis was already a part of me, she was gone, but Rhea was looking for something else._

_There were others, too._

“Edelgard only ever talked to me about strength and power,” Byleth said. “After I chose to teach the Blue Lions, she rarely spoke to me. Whenever we did, it was like she was looking through me, or evaluating my potential. She always seemed disappointed in me.”

Seteth snorted. “Well, she certainly disappointed a great many others.” He sighed. “I can’t pretend to know her mind. She is gone now, as are the ones who supported her; we cannot ask them. Whatever Edelgard’s ultimate aim – whether to destroy the Church or simply destroy the world and any who opposed her – we will never know.”

Byleth turned her head. “For all of Rhea’s secrets, you might be on to something with her feeling love. I think she made a genuine effort to know _me_.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “The first thing Edelgard said to me after I arrived here all those years ago was she hoped I’d lend my strength to the Empire. She only saw me as an instrument, as something she could use.”

Seteth pursed his lips. “I fear that we were blind to the Emperor’s ambitions. Didn’t she tell you that she found the lives lost to war acceptable?”

“She did.”

“Ambitious and cruel.”

Byleth shivered. “I don’t think ambition is enough to describe it. I saw what she ultimately became, that beast that wore her face; I’ll never forget that as long as I live.” She looked at him. “You know, despite what we had to go through to get Dimitri back, I’m glad I found him before anyone else found me. If Edelgard had found me, I don’t know that I would’ve had the strength to fight whatever she intended. She would have used me, used my power, as a tool, a weapon against the people I love.”

Her advisor frowned. “You seem certain of that.”

“It’s one of the few things I _am_ certain of.”

Gently, he said, “Do you feel that way because of what Dimitri endured?”

“He suffered,” she said. “He also caused others to suffer. He’ll live with that the rest of his life. I will live with it, too, because I won’t let him shoulder that burden alone.” She looked into Seteth’s eyes. “I love him, I’ve fought and bled alongside him, and I’d do it again if he ever asked me to. He’s a good man, and a great king. Still, I worry about him, and sometimes I fear for him, because that darkness will never entirely go away.”

“All of you paid a high price for his sanity.”

“I know that.” She sighed. “I only knew Rodrigue a short time, but he was a good man, too. He made sure Dimitri came back.”

 _To me,_ she thought. _Rodrigue gave everything so Dimitri would come back to me._

She felt her eyes water. “So, Seteth, if we’re still on the topic of weaknesses, you know mine. I love a man who taught me how to smile, to fight for others, and to be strong, even when everything seems lost.” She inhaled. “If I didn’t have him, this power would be meaningless. It saved his life, it saved our friends, and without it, I’d be lost. Power without guidance is just empty strength.”

“And what is empty strength?”

Her eyes flashed with a brief anger. “Empty strength is deciding that the weak should remain weak because they can’t help themselves. Empty strength is deciding that power makes you right above all things. Empty strength is hating the world so much that you would burn it down before you could ever see a compromise.”

“And strength with guidance?”

Byleth took a deep breath. “Compassion is seeing the world as it is, and wanting to make it better for everyone. No one is born weak, and people don’t choose weakness. Give them a voice, and people rise.” She looked at him. “Compassion sometimes leads to love. Sometimes it means offering someone a hand when they are too far in the dark to get out on their own.” She brushed her fingers over her heart. “And when he took my hand, Seteth, I thought, for the first time in my life, that I felt my heart beat.”

Seteth nodded. “I think, for one whose heart does not beat, love has made you incredibly strong. It has brought you friends, a new family, and someone you deeply care for.” He folded his hands. “No power, no matter its origin, could change that part of you that loves so fiercely.”

She picked up a napkin, wiped at her eyes. “We never talk about nice things, Seteth. We always have these philosophical conversations about emotions and power, or we talk about the war, or, goddess forbid, we do this and we combine the two.”

“Your Grace, you are the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros. Philosophy is one area in which you excel, and the war shaped how you think about many things.” He smiled. “Thank you for trusting me, for helping me to better understand.”

“Are you my friendly advisor, Seteth, or my counselor?”

“A bit of both, I think. Understand, I would not change this structure of our conversations. It makes them more interesting.”

She managed a small smile. “Well, in that case, I promise not to test your riders on philosophy and war strategy tomorrow.”

He laughed. “Simply test their ability to navigate challenging terrain. I teach my own brand of philosophy and strategy.” He looked at the chocolate tarts on the table. “Now, I must insist that we do away with these gloomy topics, and instead enjoy our dessert.”

Byleth’s smile grew. “Now that, my friend, I can do without philosophy.”


	3. Chapter 3

After dinner, Byleth retrieved an apple and a sharp knife from the cook. She walked to the stables, where she found Gabriel putting away the combined oats and horse feed. “Hello, Your Grace,” he said. “Is that for Isa?”

“It is.”

“She really likes those purple apples from Rowen.”

“So does Eburos.”

Gabriel beamed. “I love Eburos. He’s such a good horse.”

Isa snorted.

“You’re a good horse, too, Isa! I love you, too.”

Byleth laughed. “She knows. She just likes to pretend to be jealous.”

Gabriel giggled. “She’s a sweet horse.”

“That she is.” Byleth cut a wedge out of the apple, and fed it to Isa. The horse crunched away on her treat; her enormous eyes half-closed with enjoyment. “I promised you fruit, didn’t I, pretty girl?”

Gabriel asked if she needed anything else.

“Not right now. Why don’t you go get some dinner before they close the dining hall? It’s getting late.”

“I will. Good night, Your Grace.”

“Good night.”

Byleth stayed with Isa until she’d cut most of the apple up, and then picked up a brush. She stroked it through the horse’s mane, detangling some of the coarse hair as she did so. “We’ll go for another ride tomorrow,” Byleth promised. “We have some free time, and in a few days, we’ll be riding with our friends to Fhirdiad. Then, you, Dimitri, Eburos, and I can take a nice long ride, just the four of us. What do you think? I think it will be nice.”

The horse blinked her eyes.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Byleth finished brushing Isa, and cut the last few apple wedges free. The horse ate happily, and nuzzled Byleth’s hair. She smiled, stroked the horse’s neck again. “Good night, Isa. Sleep well.”

She took the knife back to the dining hall, and carried the apple core to the greenhouse. She dumped the core in the compost bin, and inhaled the heady aroma of the flowers and plants. She inspected the Duscur flowers in the corner, ensured the soil was just damp, and not overwatered.

She loved these flowers best of all the flowers in the greenhouse, better even than the carnations that bloomed in summer. The flowers reminded her of Dimitri and Dedue, how they’d met in the flames of Duscur. These flowers, as Dedue had once told her, were all that remained of Duscur for him, and so she kept them alive, a way to keep alive the two young boys she’d never known, and a way to remember the two young men she’d first met and grown to care so deeply for.

_My love and my friend, Duscur made you both who you are. I wish I’d known the ones you lost, even though losing them changed you so much, just like losing my father changed me. I wouldn’t be who I am without that loss, and you two wouldn’t be you without Duscur._

_I saved you both in spring. I saved your lives. This power saved you, and it saved me, too. Without it, we wouldn’t be here._

_I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. My friends, who make me happy, and my love, who keeps me warm._

She bowed her head. _May you sleep well, beloved, with only good dreams._

_Someday, we’ll all be free of this darkness, the taint of war and tragedy._

_Someday, Fódlan will truly be at peace, because_ we _will be at peace._

* * *

Byleth woke early. The bathhouse was empty before sunrise, and she sank into the hot water with a contented sigh. The run was just peeking above the horizon when she walked back to her chambers, clean and refreshed, ready to spend the next few hours on horseback, in the fresh air.

In her chambers, she braided her hair, tied it out of her face, and dressed in black riding trousers and a clean black shirt. She found a pair of riding gloves that kept her fingers free and bare, and tugged them on; they went up to her elbows, and were lined on the inside with soft, short fur. She pulled her riding boots on, and retrieved the riding cloak from a chair. She carried over her arm as she walked down the stairs. The ginger cat yowled at her and followed.

“Good morning, Jeralt,” she said, and scratched the cat’s head. It _mraow_ ’d for more attention. She laughed, and decided to stop in the dining hall. She found Emilie and Hayden devouring plates of eggs and roasted vegetables. Emilie beamed. “Good morning, Your Grace. We thought you’d want to get an early start, so here we are.”

“Seteth told us last night to be ready,” Hayden said.

Emilie scowled at him. “Hay!”

“What? It’s true. He told us to be ready to leave after dawn.” He smiled. “He said you wanted to challenge us on maneuvers.”

Byleth smiled. “Are you still up for the challenge, Hayden?”

“Absolutely, Your Grace. I’m even willing to take a horse.”

“Let’s stick with wyverns,” Byleth said, laughing. “If you want to learn to ride, we’ll do it properly, when we have time to spare.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Hayden grinned. “I’m going to learn to ride. I promise. Then we can race the Verzhed Woods.”

“He’s been talking about winning that race all night,” Emilie complained.

Byleth laughed. “It was a good race.”

Jeralt the cat leapt onto the table beside Hayden’s plate, began sniffing. “Hey, cat,” he said, waving his hand. “That’s my breakfast.”

Byleth sighed, draped her cloak over a chair, and retrieved the ginger fiend before it attacked Hayden’s food. She carried the enormous beast to the door, gently placed it on the ground. “I’ll get you a fish, now hold on.” She walked to the dining room kitchen, asked for a small treat for the cat. The cook laughed, chopped the tail off of a trout. Byleth took the tail, offered it to the cat, who took it, and trotted happily out the door.

Byeth sighed, dusted her hands off.

“Will you have some breakfast, Your Grace?” Emilie asked.

“I’ll get an apple and some bread for a snack later. I’m not terribly hungry right now.” She stretched, and picked up her cloak. “Are you two still up for some fun?”

“I am,” Hayden insisted.

“I don’t know if I’d call it fun,” Emilie said skeptically.

“She’s just scared of the woods.”

“Hay!”

“Em!”

Byleth laughed. “Well, at least one of us is going to have some fun. I’ll meet you two outside the gates when you’re ready. I promise, I won’t ride off without you.”

They nodded, and returned to their breakfasts. Byleth walked back over to the cook’s line, and asked for two apples and a few hunks of crusty bread. The cook wrapped the bread in a linen napkin, and handed it over along with the apples. Byleth thanked the cook, and left the dining hall for the stables.

Gabriel helped her with a blanket, saddle, and saddle bags for Isa. Byleth gently looped the bridle and reins around the horse’s head, petted her nose while she stomped her hooves. “I think she’s excited,” the stable boy said.

“I think so, too.” Byleth tucked the apples and bread into one of the saddle bags. She took the reins, thanked the boy, and led Isa outside. She inhaled the crisp morning air, and peered into the overcast sky. Despite the clouds, it did not smell like impending rain.

_Good. That means our ride will be pleasant, and your ride will be nice and dry, beloved._

A familiar figure walked by the stables. “Oh, good morning, Byleth.”

“Good morning, Mercedes.” The two women embraced. Byleth smiled. “Care to join me for a ride?”

Mercedes made a face. “Much as I like horses, I don’t really like riding. Tell you what, though, I’d love to take a walk around the grounds later today, if you have time.”

“Dimitri and the others will be here. I think they’d like that.”

“Oh, my, is that today?” Mercedes smiled. “I think Annie’s supposed to be here next week. Will you be staying?”

“No, we’ll be heading back to Fhirdiad.”

“The city’s beautiful this time of year.”

“I think we’re going to make time to plan for that winter reunion party we talked about.”

Mercedes’s eyes lit up. “Our last reunion was so much fun.” Her expression faltered. “Well, until the day after.”

Byleth nodded. “I don’t plan to have a repeat of that.”

_I’ve had enough blades in my back to last me a lifetime, and enough nightmares to last a few more._

“Oh, good.” Mercedes smiled. “I can’t wait to see everyone again. Fhirdiad in the winter is beautiful; there’s snow everywhere, and you’ll see children playing on the frozen over river. It’s cold, but you can always count on a warm fire in everyone’s home.”

“Colder than it already is at night?”

Mercedes laughed. “It’s chilly. Dimitri’s lucky; he already has that heavy winter cloak. You’ll need one of your own.”

“It’s more fun to steal his.” Mercedes giggled while Byleth draped her riding cloak around her shoulders, adjusted the clasp. “Though I guess, is that one of the perks of being queen, to have nice things like a winter cloak?”

“I suspect so.” Mercedes shivered as a cool breeze fluttered through the monastery. “I’m glad we don’t expect snow anytime soon.”

Byleth took a deep breath as the breeze passed her. “I think fall might be my favorite season.”

“Mine, too. I love the leaves changing, and the late season flowers. Oh! And the dining hall is supposed to have pumpkin tarts tonight.” Mercedes’s eyes sparkled. “I can count on you joining me, right?”

“Absolutely.” Byleth smiled. “We can have dinner together with our friends.”

“It’ll be just like old times.” Mercedes beamed. “I can’t wait. Enjoy your ride. Stay safe out there.”

“I always do.” Byleth turned back to Isa. “Ready, girl?” She mounted the horse, and guided her out of Garreg Mach’s main gates. Hayden and Emilie were waiting for her. Hayden’s mount was hopping impatiently foot to foot, while Emilie stood next to hers.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Byleth said.

“You didn’t,” Emilie said. “We made a slight detour.” She handed Byleth a sword, the blade long and slightly curved.

“What’s this for?”

“My peace of mind,” Emilie said, sounding a bit embarrassed. She pointed her thumb at Hayden, who inclined his head towards the bow over his shoulder. “I made Hayden get a weapon, too. The Verzhed Woods scare me, Your Grace. I’m sorry. I’ll wait for you and Hayden to do maneuvers, but I can’t go in there. I’m sorry.”

Byleth looked at the other woman, saw the shame in her eyes. She wanted to ask what was so frightening about the Verzhed Woods, what stories had shaken Emilie so much. Instead, she said, “Emilie, it’s all right. Here, let me see the sword.” She took it, drew it slightly out of its scabbard to examine the blade – _nice sharp edge; Felix would be proud_ \- and strapped it over her shoulder, moving her hood to let the hilt fall behind her left shoulder. “There. How’s that?”

Emilie smiled, reassured. “You look like a warrior, Your Grace.”

“That’s because she _is_ one, Em.” Hayden grinned. “Come on, Your Grace. I want to test Trout’s wings in the trees.”

Emilie mounted her wyvern, gave the beast’s reins a gentle tug, and it flapped its powerful wings. Hovering off the ground, it growled softly in the cool morning air, and great streams of steam escaped its nostrils.

“Shall we?” Byleth asked. She clicked her tongue. “Come on, Isa. Let’s go.” Hayden and Emilie rose higher in to the air on their mounts, and Byleth guided Isa down the path towards the Verzhed Woods.

* * *

Two hours later, Byleth was enjoying the fresh air and bird songs of the forest, while Hayden hovered to her left, among the thinner expanse of trees. Emilie had opted to wait outside the forest, and have her wyvern fly slow laps around the prairie field. She’d apologized again to Byleth for not going with them, and Hayden had kindly reassured her that he and the archbishop understood. He also promised he’d tease her about it later.

“Show off,” Emilie retorted.

Their bantering reminded Byleth of how Ingrid was with Felix and Sylvain.

_I never had siblings of my own, not until I found my new family._

Despite Emilie’s absence, the ride was going well so far. The air was perfectly cool, and the sun peaked through the canopy of trees, granting them the perfect amount of light to navigate. Hayden’s wyvern could just spread its wings, though the trees were a tight fit. They had travelled about five miles into the woods, and no matter his joking demeanor, Hayden proved a quiet, intensely focused companion. His attention swapped seamlessly from guiding Trout through the trees to making sure he wasn’t losing sight of Byleth.

She kept them in sight, too.

_Old habits die hard._

An hour later, she heard the wyvern grunt, and Hayden guided it to land gently on the path behind her. Byleth gave Isa’s bridle a gentle tug. “Whoa, girl. Whoa.” The horse snorted, came to a stop.

Hayden patted the wyvern’s head. “He’s doing really well, but I think he’s getting tired.”

“Did you bring a fish for him to snack on?”

“You know, I didn’t. Hey, there’s a creek over there. Come on, Trout. Let’s see if we can find you a fish.” Hayden slipped off of his mount, led it over to the creek. Byleth dismounted Isa, guided her over, let the horse drink a bit farther down the stream. A few minutes later, she heard a splash, and the wyvern happily munching on its catch.

“It’s not trout, but it’ll do!” Hayden called, laughing.

Byleth smiled, stroked Isa’s neck while the horse drank. When she was finished, Byleth led Isa back to the path. She reached into her saddle bag, retrieved an apple and offered it to Hayden, who gratefully accepted. “Thanks, Your Grace.”

Byleth took one of the pieces of bread from her pack, tore a piece off, ate it. The forest was peaceful and still. Apart from the sounds of a wyvern ‘fishing,’ the area was nearly silent. She looked around, scanned for any animals or birds.

“I wish Emilie had come with us,” Hayden said around a mouthful of apple. “It’s beautiful in here. It’s not nearly as scary as gran used to make it out to be.”

“She said people disappeared in here?”

“During the war, yes. A lot of imperial refugees fled here, and more people from the Alliance. Most of the Faerghus civilians just stayed in place; they were scared of Cornelia. I don’t blame them.”

“Where are you from, Hayden?”

“My family were part of the Leicester Alliance. Gran loved the Riegan family. She thought they were going to change the world.”

Byleth winced. “I hope she isn’t too disappointed.”

“No, she understands why things went the way they did. She also respects Claude. Whatever he’s up to, I bet when he comes back, it’ll be a sight to see.” He blushed. “Um, I hope he doesn’t do anything crazy.”

“I think he and Dimitri have an understanding.”

Hayden brightened. “Claude was a great leader. We were lucky to have him as long as we did. Still, I’m glad he and the King sorted their differences out. Were you really with the King during the whole war?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And now you’re archbishop _and_ his wife?”

“I am.”

“ _And_ you still swing a mean sword. I saw that sparring match between you two during the summer. That was incredible.” Hayden grinned. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You’ll have to show me how you are with that bow,” Byleth said. “I know an absolutely brilliant sniper in Fhirdiad.”

“Are you talking about Ashe Ubert?” Hayden’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard about his skills. Does he ever visit the monastery?”

“Not often, but when I visit Fhirdiad, I could ask him to come back with me. He loves meeting new people, and he likes to cook.”

“I like him already.”

Byleth laughed. “Me, too. He’s soon to be engaged to one of the king’s knights, Ingrid Galatea.”

“I’ve heard about her, too. Emilie wanted to be a Pegasus knight like her, but the wyverns liked her better.”

“Pegasus are hard to control. Ingrid’s a natural.”

“See, that’s what I told Em when she couldn’t get one to work with her. They’re just like horses with wings, right?”

Isa snorted.

Hayden looked at the horse. “Hey, we’re having a conversation here.”

Byleth stroked Isa’s neck. “She just likes to be the center of attention.”

“Kind of like that cat that joined us at breakfast?”

“Exactly.”

Hayden finished his apple, and chucked the core deep into the forest. “There. We gave something back to the woods. Gran used to tell us stories, but also said if we ever came in here, we should leave something behind.”

“You and Emilie will have to tell me the stories. I like ghost stories, so does Mercedes.”

Hayden’s face turned pink. “Mercedes? That pretty bishop?”

“That would be her.” Byleth grinned. “You should join her in the library some evening. She tells the children scary stories.”

“Well, maybe I should.” Hayden straightened. “I mean, the children might need a brave knight to listen to stories with, right?”

“Absolutely.” Byleth finished her bread, retrieved the other apple from her pack for Isa. The horse ate her treat, and managed to direct at least one filthy look at Trout as the wyvern retrieved a final fish from the creek. When the mounts were finished eating, Byleth said, “We should probably head back. Dimitri and the others were expected at mid-afternoon, and it feels like it’s after mid-day.”

“It does,” Hayden agreed.

They climbed into their respective saddles, and Trout waddled down the trail for a few minutes until it had its bearings. With a few powerful wing beats, it was aloft, and lazily flapped ahead of Byleth, despite Hayden’s protests. Byleth laughed, and the wyvern gently glided among the trees, while she and Isa trotted along the trail.

They hadn’t gone far when a cold wind whipped through the trees and across the path, startling all of them. Leaves and dirt flew into the air, cascading around them in a burst of earthy colors. Hayden gasped, tightened his grip on Trout’s reins. Isa grunted, stomped her hooves. Byleth soothed her, calmed her. “Hayden, are you all right?” she called, spitting dirt, and wiping her mouth.

“I think so,” Hayden said, though his teeth were chattering. “How about you, Your Grace?”

“I’m fine.” She looked around. The air was still again.

They kept going, though when Byleth next looked at Hayden, his head was drooping forward, his body relaxing in the saddle. “Hayden?”

He did not respond.

“Hayden!”

Byleth urged Isa to catch up to Trout, and she called to the wyvern. It was growing sluggish, struggling to keep aloft. When it started to drift to the ground, Byleth shouted, pulled Isa’s reins, got out of the way as the beast landed, shaking its great head. It blinked, looked over its shoulder, and made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a squawk.

Hayden was slouched forward, barely conscious. Byleth rode up beside Trout, called to the rider. “Hayden! Hayden, answer me.”

He groaned, slowly lifted his head.

“Hayden, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“C-cold,” Hayden stammered.

“You’re cold?” Byleth startled when she saw plumes of breath fogging the air in front of her face. _It shouldn’t be cold enough for that. It’s daytime._

She reached for Hayden, and cried out as blood exploded from the young man’s chest, splattering her face.

Trout shrieked, hopped ahead, and took off, flying down the path towards the forest exit.

Byleth was stunned, and barely noticed Isa dart after the wyvern. It took seconds for her to come back to herself, and she clutched the horse’s reins for dear life as Isa raced along the trail. Hayden was barely staying upright on Trout’s back, and Byleth could not tell what had happened to him.

She wiped her hand across her face, cleared his blood away.

She watched the wyvern dodging trees, racing for the tree line. Hayden was still on Trout’s back, though for how much longer, she did not know. If he fell, he would not get up again.

She saw the tree line ahead, and screamed, as loud as she could, “Emilie! Emilie! Hayden’s hurt!” She had no way of knowing if Emilie was even there, if she could even hear.

Over her own confusion and Isa’s panicked breathing, Byleth heard a whistling on the wind. It was a sound she knew all too well. A dozen arrows embedded themselves in the dirt in front of Isa. The horse shrieked, and turned into the trees, off the path. “Isa, no!” Byleth tried to control her, but the horse wouldn’t listen.

Another dozen arrows landed ahead of them. Byleth screamed this time, and Isa, even more frightened, whirled around. Byleth clutched at her reins, begging the horse to slow down.

 _If I fall,_ I _won’t get back up._

An arrow whispered past her cheek. Byleth yelped, which startled Isa. Terrified, she ran faster, and Byleth felt her hands slipping. “Isa, stop!” The horse was going in the right direction, but she was so afraid, so panicked, that nothing could calm her. Byleth’s palms were sweaty in her gloves. She could not maintain her grip on the reins, and tried to wrap them around her fingers, no easy task with the fleeing horse beneath her.

A chill breeze whipped around them. Isa snorted, skidded to a halt. Byleth barely managed to keep from falling. Panting, she looked around, seeking the source of their would-be ambushers.

_A dozen arrows, a dozen archers? Where are they?_

She reached her hand for her sword, grateful for Emilie’s foresight. _I’ll never ride unarmed again._

“Who’s out there?” she shouted, as Isa stomped her hooves, turned in slow circles. “Show yourself!”

Her breath plumed in front of her face, hot and misting the air. She swallowed, made her demand again. The Verzhed Woods were silent again, only this was an eerie, absence of sound. She was certain there had been birds before, even the odd deer, but now, there was nothing.

She’d heard this kind of silence once before, when her father’s whiskey-warm voice had whispered: _“It looks like I’m going to have to leave you now.”_

Isa turned in circles. Byleth felt the world spinning around her, the chill air, the unseen enemies. For an instant, she thought she heard whispers on the air, a chattering of nonsense that felt like it was right beside her and then far away.

_Father, what is this place?_

She heard metal slicing flesh, and Byleth smelled the pungent heat of blood. Isa reared again, screaming in pain, and Byleth lost her grip as the horse bucked her into the air. If her heart could beat, it would be racing, and instead, she only saw her fogged breaths as she soared through the air. Just before she struck the ground, she wondered when it had gotten so cold.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: This chapter contains graphic imagery, including injury and blood.

The royal party arrived at Garreg Mach right on schedule, much to Felix Hugo Fraldarius’s barely contained surprise. “How did we manage this?” he demanded. “We left the capital late, we left Rowen late, and we made it just as promised. How did we manage this? We haven’t even pushed the horses that hard. How did we even make this happen?”

“Good luck,” Sylvain Jose Gautier said, grinning as he dismounted. He patted his horse’s neck. “Isn’t that right, Nero? You’re just a good horse, yes, you are. You’re the best horse in the whole kingdom.”

Ahead of him, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, ruler of the kingdom in question, snorted, and dismounted his own horse.

“You don’t think Nero’s the best horse in the kingdom?” Sylvain questioned.

“Nero is, perhaps, the third-best horse in the kingdom.”

“Hey, you take that back. He’s standing right here.”

“Don’t encourage him, boar,” Felix said, dropping to the ground.

Dimitri looked to his own horse, and took Eburos’s reins, heading for the stable.

Beside him, Dedue Molinaro led his own horse. “Sylvain is incorrect.”

“In what way?”

“Nero is, perhaps, the fourth-best horse in the kingdom.”

Dimitri grinned. “So, you’re admitting that Eburos is the best?”

Dedue smirked. “Eburos is clearly the finest horse in the kingdom, Isa is second, and Fern is third.” He looked to the mighty war horse he called his own. “Is that not correct, Fern?”

Fern shook her head, mighty black mane flowing around her neck. She snorted in agreement.

“As you can see, Fern agrees.”

“I can see that,” Dimitri said.

“Your Majesty! You’re back!” The stable boy, Gabriel, raced out of the stables, an enormous smile on his face. “Hello, Eburos,” the boy greeted the black horse. He looked at Dimitri. “Her Grace went out for a ride, but she should be back soon.”

“I look forward to seeing her,” Dimitri said, and ruffled the boy’s hair. The boy beamed, accepted the affectionate gesture. He took Eburos’s reins and assured Dedue he’d be right back to take care of Fern. Sylvain and Felix joined them, Nero and Felix’s horse, Hazel, in tow.

“Did I hear Her Grace isn’t here?” Sylvain asked. He looked at Felix. “You told her we were coming, didn’t you?”

“You know very well that I did.” Felix shook his head. “She probably needed the exercise. This place can make anyone stir crazy.”

“Was he this cranky when we were students?” Sylvain wondered. “I don’t remember him being quite this cranky.”

“He was, and is, pragmatic,” Dedue said.

Felix nodded. “He gets it.”

Dimitri shook his head, amused by the banter. He walked over to the stables. “Gabriel? Do you need any help?”

“Eburos is all tucked away, Your Majesty. If you want to bring Fern, I can get her stabled. She’ll be happy to see Isa. They like each other.”

Dimitri nodded, returned to Dedue. “Here, Gabriel’s just about ready for Fern. Come here, girl.” He took the reins, led the enormous horse over to the stable.

Gabriel chattered happily as he and Dimitri worked together to remove the horse’s riding gear and get her stabled comfortably. “I have some fresh oats and apples,” Gabriel said. “Her Grace brings Isa an apple every night. Hey, can I help you two feed the horses their apples while you’re here? Please? Can I?” His eyes sparkled.

Dimitri laughed. “Of course. It’s easier with three people.”

“Plus, Fern eats two apples.”

“Yes, she does.” Dimitri liked Gabriel. The boy was energetic, clearly loved the horses, and took great pride in his work. “Are you ready for Nero and Hazel?”

“I think so. Give me one moment to make sure there’s enough fresh hay. Oh, is Dedue still out there?”

“He is.”

Gabriel poked his head out of the stable doorway and called to Dedue. “Would you please get two hay bales from the side of the buildings?”

Dedue nodded, and returned momentarily with a hay bale on each shoulder. Gabriel gawked, and said, “How do _I_ get strong like that?”

“Be born in Duscur,” Dedue said, “to very strong parents.”

“Well,” Gabriel said thoughtfully, “I was born here, so I guess I’ll just need to work on it.” He looked between Dedue and Dimitri. “Plus, I don’t think anyone else is as tall as you two.”

They looked at one another. Dedue finally said, “I am still taller.”

Dimitri snickered, and said, “I’ll get Nero and Hazel. You help Gabriel.”

Ten minutes later, all four horses were happily stabled and eating a mixture of oats and grasses. Gabriel promised he’d let them know the moment the archbishop returned. “She should be back soon,” he said. “They’ve been gone since this morning.”

“They?”

“Her Grace went with two wyvern riders.” Gabriel sat down on a hay bale. “They’re really nice, Emilie and Hayden. I like horses better than wyverns, though. Wyverns are too big.”

Dimitri nodded, looked towards Garreg Mach’s main gates. _Any moment now,_ he thought.

“My friends!” The familiar voice caught his attention, and he broke into an enormous grin at the sight of Mercedes. She hugged them all, happy to see that they’d had a safe journey. “Byleth isn’t back yet?” She looked towards the gate. “That’s odd. I saw her this morning, and I thought they’d be back by now.”

“It’s easy to get lost when you’re riding,” Dimitri said, folding his arms. “I do it all the time.”

“He does,” Dedue confirmed.

Mercedes giggled. “Well, Byleth and I already decided we’d all have dinner together tonight. It’ll be just like old times.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Sylvain said, joining them.

Felix hovered at Dimitri’s side. “You’re tense, boar.”

“I am not.”

“You are. Relax your shoulders. You’re scaring the cats.”

“Are you sure that you aren’t scaring them?”

Felix rolled his eyes.

“You can’t quite bait me like you used to, Felix.”

“Yet one more joy you’ve taken from my life,” Felix said dryly.

“Well, when my wife returns, you can take it up with her.”

“I intend to, and fully expect to challenge her to a duel.”

“Again?”

“I’ve picked up some pointers since last time, and you aren’t working on your swordsmanship enough.”

Dimitri laughed. “Well, when Byleth and I spar—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Felix said, raising his hands.

“I do,” Sylvain chimed in.

“Are you planning to duel with the next woman you meet?” Dimitri asked.

“Hey, it worked for you. How else am I going to find someone capable to spend the rest of my life with if they can’t best me in a sword fight?”

“One, your sword skills are appalling, and, two, are you saying Felix isn’t capable?”

Felix groaned. “Don’t encourage each other, I beg you.”

Sylvain folded his arms behind his head and whistled innocently.

Felix sighed while Dimitri laughed.

A bell sounded in the monastery. It was high-pitched, clanging, a repetitive sound that made all of them wince. Mercedes lifted her head. “That’s not the hourly bell.”

“What is that?” Dimitri looked around.

The stable boy peered out of the stable, his eyes wide. “Your Majesty, that’s the emergency bell.”

Mercedes frowned. “What’s going on?”

They heard shouting high above, as the watchtower guards called to one another.

Coming over the high point of the walls were two wyverns. One rider was screaming, though Dimitri could not hear what was being said. The other wyvern was clearly tiring, and appeared to have an unconscious rider.

Dimitri looked at Gabriel. “Where are they going?”

“The wyvern roost is up there,” Mercedes said. “Oh, no.” She covered her mouth. “What’s happened?”

“We should get up there,” Sylvain said. “They might need our help, too.”

“Hurry,” Dimitri urged. “To the stairs. Let’s go.”

* * *

They reached the wyvern roost at the same time Seteth did. The archbishop’s advisor wore a grim expression that turned to alarm when he saw the riders. “Emilie! Hayden!”

Seteth approached the woman. “Emilie. Emilie, what happened? Are you all right?”

The red-haired woman was crying, barely coherent. “He’s hurt,” she sobbed. “My brother’s hurt. Please help him. Please.”

Dimitri rushed to her brother’s side. The wyvern bellowed as he stepped into the stirrup and reached to pull the other man into his arms. The man was unconscious, and Dimitri gasped at the sight of an arrowhead exiting the man’s chest, pinning his bloodied leather armor in place. Mindful of the injured man’s back, Dimitri adjusted his grip.

“Seteth! I have him. Mercedes, this man is badly hurt. Can you help?”

Mercedes joined him. “I can, but I don’t think I can do it alone.”

“What’s the fastest way to Manuela’s infirmary?”

“This way,” Seteth said. “You have Hayden?”

“Yes.”

“Bring him quickly.”

“Dedue, Mercedes, with me. Sylvain, Felix, look after the other rider. Bring her as soon as you can.”

Sylvain leapt into action, approached the young woman, spoke soothingly to her. Dimitri heard her crying as he carried the wounded man, following Seteth through the winding hallways until they reached the second floor of Garreg Mach’s keep.

Manuela leapt to her feet as they entered. “Goddess, what happened?”

“Hayden is badly hurt,” Seteth said.

“I can see that. Here, put him down on that bed.”

Dimitri gently laid the rider down. Hayden uttered a soft groan, but he did not wake. Dimitri stepped back and watched Mercedes and Manuela go to work. Manuela cursed. “There’s a silver knife in the drawer against the far wall. Would one of you get it for me? Quickly now.”

Dedue fetched the knife, handed it over.

Manuela pried at the armor around the arrowhead, cut the leather back, and gently rolled her patient onto his side. “Mercedes, hold him still.”

Mercedes did as she was asked, and Manuela sawed at the arrow shaft until it broke into two pieces. “Mind your fingers, and let’s get that out of him.” Together, they started to ease the projectile out of the rider’s body. Manuela made a sound of disgust. “Damn it. Mercedes, here, let’s get this armor off. I’m going to have to cut him to get it out.”

Mercedes blanched, but nodded. “I understand.”

They pried the leather armor away, and Manuela cut Hayden’s shirt away from his wound. Carefully, she worked the blade against the arrow, made the wound longer and wider, and, finally, pried the projectile free. She dropped it and the knife into a silver dish on a table, and immediately went to work pouring healing magic into the rider’s body. Mercedes took her hand, and they focused on healing the wound.

Dimitri approached the dish, looked down at the arrow. It was an ugly thing, barbed and heavy, coated in blood and flesh. He stepped back, waited. Beside him, Seteth silently watched.

When the rider took a deep, clear breath, both Manuela and Mercedes exhaled their own. Seteth mirrored them, and said, “When will he wake up?”

Manuela, exhausted from healing, managed a glare. “Wake up? He needs rest, Seteth. Did you see the barb we pulled out of him?”

The advisor managed to look a bit chastened.

“We need to find out what happened to them,” Dimitri said. He looked at the arrow again. “I’ve never seen a weapon like that.”

“Nor have I.” Seteth pursed his lips, looked at Dimitri. “Hayden and Emilie were with Her Grace. Did she arrive with them? Is she all right?”

Dimitri had no time to answer. The red-haired woman, Emilie, rushed by him, collapsing by the bedside. Felix and Sylvain were at her heels. Seteth looked to them for explanation.

Felix said, “She couldn’t tell us much. She saw how badly hurt he was, she didn’t wait around. She is certain Her Grace was right behind them.”

“Where is she?” Dimitri demanded, turning to Seteth. “Where were they riding? Do you know?”

“They were in the Verzhed Woods.” Seteth pursed his lips. “We should return to the stables. Wyverns move faster than horses. She may have arrived after they did.”

Dimitri was already out the door.

* * *

“Will you slow down?” Felix snapped, racing to keep up with Dimitri’s longer strides.

The King took the stairs down from the tower two at a time, completely focused on the task at hand. Even Dedue was struggling to keep up. Sylvain kept pace with Felix, but just barely. Seteth was the only one managing to keep in step with Dimitri.

“Emilie and Hayden are experienced riders,” Seteth said. “If Hayden was injured, it’s highly possible that he was hurt protecting Her Grace. If we are lucky, she was right behind them.”

Dimitri was silent.

“Your Majesty, you’re familiar with the Verzhed Woods?”

More silence.

“Her Grace is comfortable there. She knows the paths. I am certain that—"

They reached the ground floor, and Dimitri turned towards the stables. He walked away before Seteth could finish his thought.

Seteth shook his head. “That man has no patience.”

“Not where Her Grace’s safety is concerned, no,” Dedue said.

Seteth sighed. “I suppose we have that in common.”

They reached the stables, caught up to Dimitri. Gabriel, the stable boy, stood with him, his young face tense with worry. “Are the wyvern riders all right?”

“They will be fine,” Seteth assured him. “Gabriel, have you seen Her Grace?”

“Her Grace? No, she isn’t back,” he said. His eyes widened. “She didn’t come back yet.”

Dimitri crouched in front of the boy. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Your Majesty. If she was here, Isa would be, too. I haven’t seen either of them.”

“We need to search for them,” Dimitri said, standing. “Gabriel, can you help me get Eburos ready?”

“Of course,” the boy said.

“The horses have barely rested,” Felix cut in. “There must be another horse you can take. Yours needs rest.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Eburos is strong.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s invincible.” Felix looked at Dimitri. “You know I’m right.”

Dimitri stared at him for several seconds, and nodded grimly.

Lowering his voice, Felix said, “I am as concerned for her safety as you are, but, I am begging you, listen to me, and use your head.”

Another nod.

“Thank you.” Felix stepped back. “We need a plan.”

“Agreed,” Dimitri said roughly. “The Verzhed Woods are nearby. It is an hour’s ride to get there on horseback.”

“Then we give her another hour,” Felix suggested. “Wyverns move faster. If she is behind them, she would not risk the horse’s safety to gallop the entire way.” He looked at Seteth. “Do you have anything to add here?”

Seteth folded his hands behind his back. “No. I am trusting your judgement.” He lowered his eyes. “She was very eager to see all of you.”

Dimitri flinched.

“Don’t say things like that,” Sylvain said, stepping close to his friend. “This is Her Grace we’re talking about. She’ll be riding through those gates any moment.”

“Sylvain…”

“Any moment,” Sylvain repeated. He stared at the gates. “Just you watch.”

Felix rested a hand on his shoulder. “Stop,” he said quietly.

Sylvain looked at Dimitri, and his smile wavered, the light in his eyes fading. “Come on, Dimitri,” he pleaded. “Have a little faith, right?”

Dimitri folded his arms, looked to the gates. “An hour,” he said finally. “You’re all right. We’ll give her an hour, and then, then we’ll decide.”

“The sun will be setting within an hour,” Seteth pointed out.

Dimitri grimaced.

Dedue said, “One of us should stay with the riders. They may know more.”

“Emilie didn’t tell us much,” Sylvain reminded him.

“I will go,” Seteth said. “They are under my command. I sent them with her. If she is not back in an hour, I will speak with them.”

“If she’s not back in an hour,” Dimitri said, “I’m going after her.”

“You will do no such thing,” Felix snarled. “Not in the dark, and not without us.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to have some sense. She would expect that of you, too. Use your head, boar. I won’t tell you again.”

“Hmph.” Dimitri kept his eye on the gates. “At least wait with me.”

“Of course.” Felix mimicked his posture, folded arms and all, and watched the gates.

An hour later, Dimitri and Felix remained where they were, while Sylvain paced restlessly behind them. Dedue stood to the side, watching. The sun was just starting its descent.

“Rider approaching!” called one of the watchtower guards.

The group stared at the gates, not moving.

“Wait,” the guard called a few minutes later. “There’s no rider. There’s just—”

Dimitri vaulted down into the courtyard, ran for the gates.

“Damn it, boar,” Felix barked, and raced after him.

Dedue and Sylvain joined in, all sprinting.

Dimitri reached the gate just as the grey horse limped her way inside. “Isa,” he breathed, and reached for the horse’s reins. She whinnied in panic, and he whispered, “Easy, girl, easy. It’s me. It’s Dimitri. You remember me, right? Right?” He stroked her nose. Her great nostrils flared as she smelled him.

“She is hurt,” Dedue said. “Her right flank.”

Sylvain joined him, inspected the wound. “It looks like an arrow got her. Don’t worry, there’s nothing stuck there, just a big gash. She’s bled a lot, but it doesn’t look deep. If she made it all this way on her own, she should be all right.” He looked the horse over, noted her kit. “She’s missing someone.”

“Byleth,” Dimitri murmured. “Where is she, Isa?”

“Dimitri,” Dedue said gently, “let’s get her to the stable. Let Gabriel look after her, and have a healer inspect her wound. She needs rest and we need to make a plan.”

“I agree,” Felix said. “I’ll go talk to Seteth. Maybe his riders have more information.”

They led the horse to the stables. Gabriel cried out when he saw Isa’s injury, but quickly focused on getting her comfortable. Dimitri helped him unsaddle her and gently led her into her stable. Gabriel raced to get one of the monastery healers who looked after the animals, and left Dimitri with Isa. She was lethargic, but remained on her feet.

“Pity you can’t talk to me,” Dimitri murmured, and petted her nose.

The horse snorted, then stared at him with her enormous eyes.

“Tell me she’s all right,” he whispered. “Something. Give me some sign.”

Isa snuffled his hair.

He smiled weakly. “I’ll find her. She’d do the same for me.”

* * *

The sun had long since set when Seteth returned into the stables. Gabriel was brushing a newly-healed Isa. “Gabriel. Have you seen His Majesty?”

Gabriel nodded. “Dedue came by for him. I think they were going to the chapel.”

“Thank you.” Seteth looked at the boy. “It’s late. You should get some rest, Gabriel.”

“Is Her Grace all right?”

“I hope so,” Seteth said.

The boy’s lips trembled. “I’ll take care of Isa until she gets back. I promise.”

Seteth thank him, and stepped out of the stables. He walked briskly to the chapel, up the ramp and into the great chamber. Candles illuminated most of the chamber, nearly empty at this hour. He found Dedue standing patiently near one of the pillars. The King was near the altar, staring straight ahead.

Seteth approached him. “Your Majesty, Hayden is awake.”

“You wanted to tell me yourself.”

“I feel somewhat responsible for today’s events,” Seteth said. “I did not stop her from leaving.”

“You had no way to know.”

“True, but, practically speaking, I should have known better.”

The King nodded; his single eye fixed on the altar. “I don’t pray very often, Seteth.” He looked at his hands. His fingers trembled. “I suppose, since I met her, I didn’t feel I had to.”

“She is very special to many of us.”

“She’s everything to me,” the King said quietly. “She’s your archbishop, but she’s my heart.” He took a slow breath. “She’s my soul, Seteth. Do you understand what that means?”

“I do, believe it or not.” Seteth folded his hands behind his back. “Hayden is feeling well enough to speak with you.” Less formally, he added, “Felix and Sylvain have already retired for the evening; Felix was quite certain you would still be awake.”

“He knows me well.”

“That he does.” Seteth bobbed his head. “While Hayden is alert, you may want to speak with him.”

“Lead on, then.”

* * *

Seteth stood against the wall with Dedue. Dimitri sat down in a chair next to Hayden’s bed. On the opposite side of the bed, the young man’s sister, Emilie, sat on her own chair; she clutched Hayden’s hand in hers.

“Thank you agreeing to speak with me,” Dimitri said. “I know it’s late.”

Hoarsely, the red-haired young man said, “It’s the least I can do. You all saved my life.” He looked at Emilie. “You saved me.” He squeezed her hand.

Emilie looked at Dimitri, her face stained with dried tears. “Your Majesty, it, it’s my fault that Her Grace is missing. I was, I was afraid of the woods. I couldn’t go in.” Her gaze shifted to her brother. “I remembered gran’s stories, and, and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go in there.”

“What stories?” Seteth asked.

“Gran used to tell us that Verzhed was haunted. If we went in too far, we’d never come out.” Emilie squeezed her eyes shut. “Her Grace is still in there. She, she could be—”

“Em,” Hayden said, his voice strong despite his injury. “Em, she was there. I heard her voice. She called to you.”

Emilie sounded hopeful. “You heard that, too?”

“It’s the last thing I remember hearing.” Hayden looked at Dimitri. “We were on the central trail, Your Majesty. We made it five miles in before we turned around. She was right behind me. I know she was.”

“Emilie believed she was right behind her,” Seteth pointed out.

Emilie’s cheeks colored with shame. “My brother was hurt. I was afraid for him.”

“Even so.”

Dimitri raised his hand. “I am not interested in casting blame, Seteth,” he said. “I want to know all you can tell me about where you were and what you remember. Someone attacked you, Hayden, that’s obvious. Do you know who?”

Hayden shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I don’t know. The last thing I remember really clearly was how cold it was in the woods.”

“Cold?”

“Yes, it just got really cold.” Hayden frowned. “It was strange. It shouldn’t get that cold in the forest this time of year. The next thing I knew, I woke up here.”

“So, you never saw who attacked you?” Seteth asked.

“I’m sorry, Seteth, no.”

“Please stop apologizing,” Dimitri said. “I told you, I’m not interested in blame. I want information right now. You’ve told me you were five miles in. Do you know about where you were when you were attacked?”

Hayden thought. “We were close enough to the tree line that Emilie heard Her Grace. How long did it take us to get back here, Em?”

“We might have been in the air for just under an hour,” she said, her face still red. “I should have waited for her.”

“I fear Hayden would not be with us if you’d waited,” Seteth said, folding his arms. “I will not lie: I am disappointed that you fled. However, were I to lose two capable riders, I would be quite upset.”

Emilie looked at Dimitri. “Your Majesty, the Archbishop, I, I know how important she is to us, here at the monastery. I can’t imagine how much she matters to you, but, but I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help find her.”

“You’ll stay here with Hayden,” Dimitri said, standing. “My friends and I know where to go. We’ll set out at first light, and we’ll find her.” He bowed. “I thank you both for being honest with me.” He turned to leave.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Hayden?”

“Emilie gave Her Grace a sword. I never had a chance to use my bow; I must have lost it on the trail.” He gently touched his wound. “Make sure you’re armed, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri nodded. “Of course.”

He walked out the door, Dedue close behind him.

“What do you intend?” Dedue asked.

“Right now, I’m going back to the stables.”

Alarmed, Dedue said, “You can’t be serious.”

“All I’m going to do is make sure our gear is ready to go for the morning. I’ll stop by Felix and Sylvain’s rooms and tell them the plan. Plus, I want to make sure we have weapons available. Alois should still be awake. I’ll find him and we’ll get things ready.” At Dedue’s concerned expression, Dimitri said, “I won’t be able to sleep.” He looked away, and added, “I can’t stop thinking she’s alone out there. She’s somewhere outside Garreg Mach’s walls, and she’s alone.”

“She is not helpless.”

“No, but she’s still alone. I remember what that did to me.”

Dedue rested his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “I know, but for her sake, please rest.” He smiled sadly. “Her Grace will be furious with me if I don’t at least say something.”

Dimitri smiled, appreciated his friend’s attempt. “Well, we can’t have that. I’ll try. I promise you; I will try.”

* * *

Felix was a light sleeper, and opened his door at Dimitri’s second knock. “You have a plan.”

Dimitri nodded. “She’s likely still in the Verzhed Woods. I want to leave at first light.”

“We’ll be there. We’ll find her.” Felix offered a small smile. “After all, you’ll never get better at dueling if we don’t.”

Dimitri huffed an equally small laugh. “Never change, my friend.”

“Good night, boar.”

“Good night, Felix.”

Dimitri passed his own old room as he left the dormitories. These old rooms were kept for the former students, when they stayed. He never slept there, of course, but try as he might, he couldn’t remember many happy memories from these rooms. He felt a chill, folded his arms, and walked down the stairs, headed for the stables.

The horses were dozing or munching on leftover feed. He approached Eburos, who regarded him with his enormous black eyes. The horse inched forward in the stall, lowered his head and sniffed Dimitri’s hair. He gave him a gentle headbutt, and Dimitri petted the horse’s neck. “We’ll find her,” he said. In the stall next to Eburos’s, Isa snorted. Dimitri smiled, reached his other hand out to pet her nose. “Sorry, girl, you’ll stay here. You need to rest. Eburos and I will bring her back. We promise, isn’t that right, Eburos?”

Eburos snuffled.

Dimitri inhaled, thought of all the times Byleth teased him for smelling of horse after a long ride. When he’d come here during the summer, his battered mind had taken her teasing as a sign that all would be well: _“You need a bath. You smell like a horse.”_

_“Hello to you, too, beloved.”_

**_Your beloved. You call her that and yet here you stand, waiting and wondering. You could saddle this horse right now, ride into the night, and no one could stop you. What are you waiting for? There is nothing stopping you._ **

He snapped his head up. “No,” he snarled softly. “No, no, my days of listening to you are done.” He dug the nails of his right hand into his palm, until he felt the bite of pain that refocused him. The horses stared at him. He let out a breath. “Those days are behind me.”

**_Those days will never be completely behind you. You will never be free of your past, nor of your bloodstained hands. You crushed rats and fools beneath your heels. Imagine the rats that might dwell in those woods. If you find them feasting on her bones, what will you do?_ **

**_If you heard her voice in your ear, would you remember what really lingers beneath your skin? Would you stain your hands red again if it meant you could hear her voice?_ **

“Enough,” he hissed. “Leave me be.”

 _She isn’t dead. I would_ know _if she was dead._

He swallowed, stepped away from the horses. He marched out of the stable, shaking his head, headed for the training grounds. Despite the hour, his hunch had been correct, and Alois was standing at a table, sharpening a silver axe. The knight lifted his head when Dimitri got close to the table, and said, “The only people who can sneak up on me these days are you and Her Grace.” Alois’s grin did not have his usual charm. “You should bang some pots and pans together. That would distract me easily enough.”

Dimitri shrugged. “Maybe I needed to hear one of your jokes.”

“Alas, Your Majesty, I’m afraid that I’m not in a mood for them.”

“Wonder of wonders.”

“Better than a blunder of blunders.” The knight’s grin took on some familiarity. “You didn’t come down here at this hour to trade jokes.”

“No, I need two silver lances, a silver axe, the sharpest sword you have, and a whetstone to make them all sharper.”

Alois’s expression grew focused. “I can make that happen.” He walked to the armory wall, inspected the blades there. “Here,” he said, “come take these, Your Majesty. Careful with that lance on your right. It’s just about sharp enough to take someone’s head off.”

Dimitri took the lances, laid them on the table. Alois retrieved a second silver axe, and looked over the swords on the wall. “For Felix?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Is he still practicing magic?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go with this, then.” Alois plucked a curved blade from the wall. A green tassel hung from the pommel. “I think this will suit Felix quite well.”

“I agree.” Dimitri took the sword, gave it a few experimental slices through the air. “You have a whetstone?”

“I have a bucket of them. Help yourself.”

They worked in silence, until Alois said, “Byleth’s as tough as her father was, maybe even tougher. Jeralt raised her well, Dimitri. I guarantee, no matter what’s happened, she’s safe.”

“That’s the most optimistic anyone’s been.”

“I’ve seen her fight. I’ve also ridden in those woods with her. They’re beautiful, but there is something wrong with them.”

Dimitri remembered Emilie’s shame at not going in. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know, I can’t quit explain it. We rode there a few weeks back, and I swore, I heard whispers the deeper we got in. If Byleth heard anything, she never said.”

“What… sorts of whispers?”

“Nothing I could make out. It’s also freezing in there at certain points, even in the summer. Dress warmly. That place unnerves the hell out of me.” Alois shivered. “She’s braver than I am on that front.” He inspected the edge on the silver axe. “That said, give me, or anyone around here, a sharp enough blade, and nothing bothers me.”

They stood at the table, sharpening weapons until the midnight bells tolled. Dimitri tested the edge on the silver lance he intended to take, and barely felt the whispered cut against his thumb. “Perfect.”

“Well done. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“You already knew that.”

“I did, but it’s nice to see a king who isn’t afraid to maintain his own weapons.” Alois looked thoughtful for a moment, and walked to the wall. He selected a short, curved blade, the grip wrapped in black leather; a blue ribbon wound through the leather. “I bought this off a merchant a few months ago. I meant to give it to Byleth as a gift on her birthday.” He handed the blade to Dimitri. “Take it with you,” he said. “Jeralt was like a father to me, and she’s like a little sister. I promised I’d look after her, and I can’t face the old man’s grave while she’s missing. When you find her, put that blade in her hands.”

“I will.” Dimitri unsheathed the sword, inspected the edge. It needed sharpening. He replaced it in its scabbard, and took a new whetstone from the bucket. _One more blade, and then I’ll sleep._

He took the blade and whetstone to the monastery tower, climbed the stairs to the archbishop’s chambers. He found Byleth’s enormous ginger cat, Jeralt, perched on the bed. It offered him an inquisitive _mrr?_ as he sat down in a chair, took his boots off, and unsheathed the sword. He sharpened it, lost in the repetitive motions, his mind slowly going blank, until his knuckle slipped against the edge. The blade was so sharp he barely felt it, and absently sucked on the cut until it stopped bleeding.

Satisfied by the edge, he replaced it in its scabbard, and heard the monastery bell toll once. The cat stared at him as he took off his riding vest, shirt, and trousers, and collapsed onto the bed. He clutched a pillow close to his chest, buried his face against the fabric, smelled earthy tea and almonds.

 _Mraow?_ The ginger cat crossed the bed, pawed at him gently.

He swallowed, and petted the cat with a shaking hand. “I’ll find her. I swear to you, I’ll find her.” The cat rubbed its head against his fingers, and then curled up close to the pillow. Its low rumbling purr vibrated through his arm.

Dimitri stared into the darkness of the familiar room. Exhausted, he succumbed to a weary sleep, battered in body and spirt in a way that he hadn’t felt in years.

_I will find you, beloved. Please wait for me. I will find you._


	5. Chapter 5

_“Kid, get up.”_

She shivered.

_“Kid, you need to get up.”_

The voice was familiar, just at the edge of hearing. She blinked, opened her eyes to darkness. Momentarily panicked, she dug her fingers into the hard surface beneath her – _soil, leaves, grasses, dead things, insects, goddess, where_ am _I?_ That was enough to rouse her, and she heaved herself up, gasping.

_“That’s it, kid. Breathe through it. Get up.”_

“Father?” She looked around the darkness, certain she’d heard his voice.

A moment passed, and she hear nothing more.

Byleth shook her head, groaned at the aches and pains throughout her body. She felt a sword at her back, and a matching bruise beneath it that went deep beneath her skin and muscles. She felt no broken bones, but the left side of her face felt tacky, sticky. She smelled blood, and felt her hair stiff with the stuff. She blinked, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.

_What happened?_

Streaks of moonlight illuminated the ground, but it wasn’t enough light. She held out her hand, cast a small fireball. It hovered above her palm, and she looked around. She was surrounded by trees; they seemed to go on for miles around her. There was no breeze, but the temperature was cool, and her breath fogged the air in front of her face.

The fireball in her hand was warm, and she cradled it close, absorbing its heat and light.

She tried to get her bearings, to remember what had happened.

_I was riding. Isa! Where’s Isa? She threw me off._

“Isa?” she called, and her voice came out as a horrible croak. She swallowed, tried again, and this time she could barely speak above a whisper.

_I was riding Isa. There was a wyvern with us. I remember the creek, then we turned back, and… Hayden! Hayden was with me. He was hurt. Did he make it out?_

She turned in a circle.

_Someone attacked us. Isa ran off the path._

_Where is the path? Where am I?_

She staggered forward a few steps, realized she still could not see well enough to know where she was located or going.

_I can’t just stay here. I have to move. Whoever attacked us could still be out there, and I don’t know how long I’ve been here._

Byleth searched for a branch on the ground, something small she could use as a temporary torch. She found a relatively dry piece of wood, pressed the fireball against it. The flame was good enough to see for several feet in each direction. She let out a relieved sigh, and tried to get her bearings again.

Isa had fled south from the path, which meant Byleth was likely going in the wrong direction. She turned around, swept her torch around, looked for any sign of the trail. She didn’t know how far Isa had run before she was thrown.

Had Isa gotten out? Had she fled farther south, or had she found her way out of the woods and back to Garreg Mach? Byleth’s stomach turned in knots.

_She was hurt. She might not have made it._

She inhaled, tried to focus. She took a tentative step forward, then another, and picked up her speed. She had to find the path. If she could find the path, she could get out of these woods. Once she was out, she knew the way to the monastery.

_Goddess, Dimitri and the others should be there by now. They must be worried sick._

Her heart sank. Dimitri would be beyond worried. He was likely fighting with the others about rushing to find her. Grimly, she knew she’d be doing the same thing in his place.

_And they’d be holding me back, too._

_Beloved, I’m still here. We’ll find each other._

_I promised you, I’ll always find you._

She picked up her pace, and made it a few more steps before she realized she was shivering. She tightened her cloak around her, but it did no good. She trembled, inhaled freezing air.

_Why is it so cold here? It makes no sense. It shouldn’t be this cold._

Shaking, she took another step.

She heard a twig snap behind her.

She turned, her torch illuminating the area.

A man dressed in white robes stood among the trees. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and a white hood shielded most of his face, save his mouth and jaw. His mouth was curled into a smile, a casually cruel gesture. “You are so warm,” he said. “Such warmth amid these trees.”

She stepped back from him.

“I have seen you,” the man continued. “I have seen you so many times, riding through these woods. You do not know me, but I know your warmth. I sense it in the darkness, and I sense it in the day.”

She blinked, and the man was gone.

She felt hands on her shoulders, and whirled, her torch sweeping the air in front of her.

She heard a low laugh, and fingers dug into the fabric of her cloak. She cried out, and a hand grasped her throat, a lifeless, agonizingly cold hand, with flesh so frigid that it felt like a brand on her skin. She wrenched away from the hand, gasping.

“Yes,” the man purred. “You are quite warm.”

“Don’t touch me,” Byleth ordered. “Don’t you dare touch me again.”

The man in white smiled. “I will do as I please. These are my woods. Will you run? You cannot see in the dark. What will you do?”

She lifted her free hand, cast a fire spell at him. He raised his hand, gestured, and the fire extinguished before it struck him. She gasped, stepped back, and he seemed to flicker in and out of her field of vision. She blinked, and he was right in front of her. His hand wrapped around her throat. She shrieked at the chill of his skin, the strength of his fingers.

“So warm,” the man in white purred, and one of his hands slipped around her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

_Only one person is allowed to touch me like this._

Enraged, she jabbed at him with her torch, the fire striking his side.

He grunted, released her.

She put distance between them, held the torch in front of her. If she could see better, she would use her sword, cut this man down where he stood. He stared at her, and she could see his cruel smile in the light.

“How strange,” he said.

She said nothing, and backed away from him.

“You are warm, and yet your heart does not beat.”

A memory flickered into her mind, a shaking voice, a man slowly coming back to his senses after years of madness: _“Your hands are so warm. Have they always been?”_

“Stay away from me,” she snapped at the man in white. “Do not touch me.”

“What lives and does not have a heartbeat?” the man mused. “A spirit? A demon? No, you are no demon. You are not a beast wearing a stolen body, either, so what are you?”

She waved the torch, warning him to stay back.

“Is it so terrible to desire warmth?”

“Stay back!”

“What stolen flame burns within you, silent heart?”

She feinted with the torch, as if to burn him. “Do not come near me,” she snarled.

“Is it so wrong to touch?”

“Stay away from me.”

“Lost among the trees, do you know how often I feel another’s flesh beneath my own?” He reached for her.

She turned to flee, and he stepped on the edge of her cloak. She cried out, fell to the ground, rolled away from him, the torch spitting sparks across the leaves. She leapt to her feet, avoided his grasping hands.

He stared at her, lowered his hands, and she saw sparks of magic gathering above his palms. “Run, if you want to. I will find you, but give me a good chase, silent heart.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I do not need to.” He smiled. “Not anymore, and not while I can see you.”

Byleth froze, terrified.

A bird chirped above them in the trees.

The man in white stopped. He lifted his head. “The daylight is not your sanctuary.” He crooked his finger. “These woods do not know the sun. You may run, but there is no place for you to hide.”

He did not touch her, but Byleth gasped as a chill rolled out from her spine, over her shoulders, down her arms, through her fingers. Her marrow felt the chill, her bones ached, and the frigid air felt like it was enveloping her in cold fire. She shuddered, put another step between them. “Stop!”

The man smiled. “You are so warm, silent heart. I will have more.”

The bird chirped again, and a few others joined in the chorus. Byleth looked around, saw the faintest glimmer of sunrise over her shoulder.

_East. That’s the way I have to go._

She backed away from the man in white. “Stay away from me,” she repeated.

“For now, silent heart,” the man said. “Run. I will find you again.”

She turned and ran towards the sunrise, the east. She was shivering and shaking, and even when the grey light of dawn provided enough light to cast her dead torch aside, she could not seem to get warm. She slipped among the leaves, and crashed to the ground. Scrambling, she managed to get to her feet, wrapped her cloak tightly around her, and ran for her life.

* * *

“He didn’t sleep, did he?” Sylvain rubbed his hands in the cool morning air. He stood with Dedue by the stables. Inside, Dimitri was helping Gabriel saddle the horses. Felix stood by the keep’s main entrance, discussing their plan with Seteth: ride for the Verzhed Woods, follow the path, and hope they found the Archbishop along the way. Yes, they would watch out for whoever attacked Hayden, and, yes, they were all armed.

Dedue folded his arms. “If he did, it was not restful.”

“Hey, that makes, what, four of us?” Sylvain ran his hands through his hair. “I haven’t slept that poorly since the war.” He made a face. “Well, maybe last spring. That was a rough few days.”

Dedue nodded grimly.

Felix joined them.

“How’d it go?” Sylvain asked.

“Seteth will send a rider after us at mid-day to wait outside the forest. If we haven’t returned by sunset, he’ll send Alois to find us tomorrow.”

Sylvain sighed. “He doesn’t think we’ll be back by sunset, does he?”

“He’s not optimistic, no.”

“Great.” Sylvain strolled over to the stables. “Need any help, Gabriel?”

The boy shook his head. “I think we’re all right. His Majesty is just finishing with Nero. I’m going to lead Fern outside first, since she’s so big.”

Sylvain stepped out of the way and Gabriel led the war horse outside. “Dedue, she’s all ready to go.”

Dedue approached his horse, spoke quietly to her before he climbed aboard.

Sylvain walked into the stables, saw Dimitri tightening the band around Nero’s saddle. His singular focus highlighted the grim lines of his face, the firm set of his mouth. Sylvain heard him muttering under his breath, though he couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Hey,” Sylvain said quietly.

More muttering.

“Hey. Dimitri.” He took a step forward.

Dimitri jerked his head up, looked at Sylvain. Nero snorted at the sudden movement. Dimitri looked at the horse, gently stroked his neck. Sylvain closed in, mimicked the gesture on the other side. “Hey, Nero,” Sylvain soothed. “It’s just us.” He looked at Dimitri. “We’re going to find her, Dimitri. Like Felix says, she’s stronger than all of us.”

His friend looked away.

Sylvain rested a hand on his shoulder. “Dimitri. Come on. Look at me.”

A single blue eye glanced at him.

“We just have to stay focused. I’ll bet, wherever she is in the woods, she’s waiting for us to swoop in and rescue her.” Sylvain grinned. “Hey, do you remember when we were students and she went off to Red Canyon all by herself? And we chased after her, and had to fight a whole group of beasts, because we were idiots?”

Dimitri actually smiled. Voice hoarse, he said, “I still think that’s the second most irresponsible thing she’s done.”

Sylvain laughed. “Really? What’s the most irresponsible thing?”

The smile grew a bit more genuine. “I haven’t decided if it was the time she helped a madman fight a war, or when she agreed to marry that madman.”

“Oh, come on,” Sylvain said, rolling his eyes. “You’re not crazy. You have a temper, and sometimes you get lost in your own head, but you’re not crazy. I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re still friends after all this time. You’re just Dimitri to me, even if you are a ruler; that’s who you’ll always be.” His eyes sparkled. “And, hey, you married someone who gets you in every possible way. Did you know you smile differently when she’s around?”

“I do?”

Sylvain nodded. “Trust me. It’s like how I always smile when Felix is around. The way I see it, if someone can make you smile like that, it means you gave them a reason to want to.”

Dimitri coughed into his fist. “At least I didn’t give her a dagger.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain said, grimacing. “It worked out really well the last time you did that.”

Dimitri snorted, and said, “You aren’t wrong.”

Sylvain decided his friend was fine if he could laugh about such a bad memory.

They led the horses outside. Felix took Hazel’s reins from Dimitri and said, “I’ve updated Seteth. One of his squires helped fill waterskins. We are as prepared as we can be.”

Dimitri nodded his thanks. “Did you get your weapons?”

“Yes.” Felix patted his hip, where the sword rested comfortably alongside a shorter dagger. “You sharpened these, didn’t you?” he asked as he mounted his horse.

“How’d you know?”

“Because Sylvain was testing that lance earlier and cleaved a hay bale in two. You’re the only person I know who sharpens things for killing blows.”

Dimitri arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure the hay bale had it coming.”

Felix snorted. “You’re fine.”

“What?”

“Sylvain and I were discussing last night how long it would take you to snap back to your old ways. However, despite the circumstances, you just told a joke.”

Dimitri smirked. “It’s a defense mechanism, I assure you.”

“Dimitri.”

“Hm?”

“She’s stronger and smarter than you are. She’s probably going to end up saving us.” Felix managed a tight grin. “Come along, boar. You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

Dimitri nodded. He picked up Alois’s gift, strapped it to Eburos’s saddle. His fingers lingered on the grip, imagined hers wrapped around it, confident, so certain. He closed his eye briefly, pictured her face, her smile, her voice: _“I’ll move mountains to find you.”_

_And I for you._

**_You would slaughter a thousand if it kept her by your side. When you find her bones picked clean by rats, you will not move mountains, you will_ ** **obliterate _them. You will stain your hands and teeth red with blood, and hers will be the only voice you hear. What better goddess for you than one of vengeance?_**

“Enough,” he hissed. Grimacing, he bowed his head, grateful his friends couldn’t see his face. He would not listen; he did not need the rage to fuel him any longer.

_“If you are lost, I will never rest until I find you.”_

_I will find you, Byleth._ He mounted the horse, lance in hand, and strapped it to his back. “Are we ready?” he asked his friends.

Without another word, the four of them rode out of Garreg Mach.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: This chapter contains graphic imagery, including injury and blood.

Byleth found a group of enormous boulders that served as a decent hiding place. Surrounded by trees and brush, the small space was perfectly suited for her height. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her, felt her teeth clacking together as she shivered through the unnatural chill in the air. She tugged the hood up, tried to breathe through her fear, and the lingering sensation of those terrible cold hands on her throat. Her skin burned where the man in white had touched her.

She’d gone east until she couldn’t run any longer. Her legs and lungs ached, and her back was the worst of all, the weight of her sword slapping constantly against what felt like an ever-growing bruise. Trembling, she tried to concentrate, to summon just enough white magic to heal herself. She managed, but instead of the soothing heat she associated with healing magic, it felt hollow, stuttering, and reminded her of how she’d once helped Jeralt stagger drunkenly out of a bar after a particularly unpleasant campaign.

 _I wish I could remember your face,_ she thought. _I remember your voice, but your face fades a little more with every passing day. I could use some of your strength now._

She huddled in her cloak, tried to get her breathing under control. Fear did things to the body, to the mind. Her father’s journal had claimed fear after her birth, his fear of Rhea. She’d only seen him afraid once, when she held him in her arms as he died, and faded away in the rain.

_I have seen the ones I love afraid. I have never faced my own fears._

_Do I even know what my own fears are? How would I know?_

She shivered, tugged the hood down around her ears.

 _Silver shavings, weapon oil, and horse._ She rubbed her nose against the fabric, felt each breath coming easier and slower. _So long as you are in my life, beloved, I will never allow fear to drive me._

_And when I get out of these damn woods, the first thing I’m going to do when I see you is hug you._

A chill surged across her skin, and she hugged herself. The chill and the familiarity of Dimitri’s scent in the cloak seemed to do the trick of focusing her. White magic flowed through her hands, and she felt the bruising on her back fade, while the aches and pains throughout her body became memories. She leaned against the boulder behind her, ignored the press of the sword between her shoulder blades.

She half-closed her eyes.

_I need to rest for just a few minutes, then I’ll start running again._

She heard movement outside of her hiding place. She pressed herself against the rocks, hoped the black fabric of her cloak hid her among the stones and trees. Whispers danced at the edge of her hearing, clusters of gibberish, nonsense sounds that were not words. She buried herself deeper in the fabric, watched her surroundings.

Shadows stepped into view. Their features were indeterminate, though they wore white and grey clothing. Several carried bows.

_The archers who attacked us?_

She watched, breathed slowly through her nose.

One of the shadows seemed to be in charge, but she could not understand what they were saying. Whatever it was didn’t sound like words so much as chattering noises, perhaps the origins of a language, if not a language itself. She listened closer, but the sounds were unknown to her.

_It’s times like this I miss Sothis’s whispers. She would know what they’re saying._

A shadow came close to her hiding space.

She huddled in her cloak, tried to remain motionless. White robes trimmed with black ribbon billowed around the shadow’s body. The face was indeterminate, partially hidden by a brimmed hat. They carried a wicked looking bow, the limbs tipped by sharpened silver horns. Braced lightly against the bow was a horrific looking arrow, the tip comprised of dozens of small curved barbs.

 _Is that what they shot at us with? Goddess, is that what hit Hayden?_ She bowed her head. The young man was likely dead if he’d been struck with a weapon like that. Anger and sorrow surged through her, and she examined the figure more closely, craning her neck to see the face, to know just who these enemies were. The longer she looked, the more something seemed off, and when it dawned on her, she had to clasp her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.

_They don’t have faces._

There was the vaguest hint of facial features, but nothing defined, save the mouth. As she watched, the thin lips curled back to reveal sharp, brilliantly white teeth. That same gibberish language echoed, and the shadow moved away, out of Byleth’s line of sight.

She remained as still as possible, waited for the shadow to return, possibly with the chatty one in tow. She heard the same voice as before, the nonsense that was words and not, and listened, until the sounds of leaves crunching underfoot faded into the distance. She counted to ten, and slowly stood up. She crept forward, eased out of her hiding place, scanned her surroundings.

The shadows were gone. In the daylight creeping through the trees, she could see clearly. There were dozens of trees and stone formations clustered tightly together; they all looked the same. She glanced above, but the canopy prevented her from fully seeing the sun. She looked ahead of her, recalled the direction she’d run. She’d gone in a straight line away from the man in white, toward the sun.

_I’m still going east. I must be going in the right direction._

She slipped her sword free, gripped the scabbard in her left hand. She pushed her hood back, shook her head, pushed her hair out of her face. Her fingers brushed a scabbed over cut near her hairline and she felt the tacky mess of dried blood on her left cheek and brow. She grimaced when she remembered the creek was in the opposite direction.

Her throat felt strange where the man had touched her. Probing her skin with her bare fingers, she found no evidence of bruising or burns; it was not tender, and it felt smooth. It must have been the shock of his touch. She couldn’t recall ever being touched by someone so cold.

_My father’s body was warm when he died._

She shook her head. That memory still burned in her mind, no matter the time and distance from it. Jeralt’s death would always haunt her, the one death she could never prevent.

She blinked, remembering the first time she’d cried. Her father had been larger than life, a skilled mercenary, a good man, and in an instant, he was gone, killed by people, and for reasons, she still did not understand.

_Look how far I’ve come, Father. What would you make of me, now?_

_Apart from being lost in the damn woods._

She sighed, and grimaced at the fogged breath in front of her face.

_This cold makes no sense._

_Time to move._

She walked briskly, dodging trees and rocks, haphazard piles of sticks and leaves. Only a day ago, she’d thought the leaves beautiful, a comforting sign of fall. Now, they seemed like a warning of impending death, a stark reminder of decay.

She walked for some time. The trees seemed to go on forever, and she felt no closer to the path. The clusters of trees grew ever similar, and, frustrated, she spun in a circle, looking for some evidence of the tree line or the central path. She’d seen it the day before, before the ambush and Isa’s panic had driven her off trail. The horse was not to blame for her current situation; anyone would be terrified when faced with an enemy they could not see.

_I hope she made it out._

She took a breath, scrubbed at her face. She looked around. She was truly out of her element, alone in the wilderness. Apart from her father, only one other person she knew had spent time in an environment like this.

_What would you do, beloved, if you were in this situation?_

It took her seconds to answer her own question. She drew her sword, and slashed it across a nearby tree-trunk, carving a crude ‘X’ into the bare wood.

_You’d carve a path._

_Let’s see if I can make better use of that advice than others have._

* * *

“Well, this place is terrifying,” Sylvain said, as they approached the Verzhed Woods tree line.

“And what makes you say that?” Felix wanted to know.

Sylvain waved his arm at the looming trees and canopied shadows ahead. “Just look at it. The whole thing screams ‘foreboding.’”

“It’s just a forest.”

“It’s a creepy forest.”

Dedue guided his horse next to Sylvain. “While your fear is understandable, Her Grace may need us.”

“I’m not afraid,” Sylvain insisted. He offered a lop-sided grin. “Besides, if I was lost in there, I know you’d all come for me. We’re the Blue Lions. We look out for each other.”

“Yes,” Dedue agreed, smiling. “We do.” He looked at Dimitri. “I believe we are ready.”

Dimitri nodded, gave Eburos a gentle kick, and the horse stepped forward. Felix urged Hazel forward, rode beside him.

“What’s your plan, boar?”

“We stay together, for starters.”

“And then?”

“Hayden said they rode five miles in. We’ll follow their trail, and if we’re lucky, we’ll find her off the path.”

“We have never been that lucky.”

“Then maybe we’ll find some sign of where they got separated.”

Felix looked around. “The trees are thinner closest to the path. What if she’s deeper in?”

Dimitri peered into the thicker trees. “In that case, we’ll have to go on foot. Someone will need to stay with the horses.”

“You’re thinking we split up in pairs?”

“I am.”

They rode in silence, until Felix said, “Sylvain’s right, this place is damn unsettling.”

“What makes you say that?” Dimitri turned his head left and right, scanning their surroundings. All he saw were trees, rock formations, brush, and thousands of brilliantly colored leaves.

“I feel a chill.”

Dimitri frowned. “You do?”

“Perhaps your temper keeps you warm.”

“Very funny.”

Felix buttoned the top button of his riding vest. “Faerghus doesn’t feel this cold in fall. This isn’t normal.”

Dimitri frowned. He didn’t feel the cold. It was cool, yes, but that was to be expected. He exhaled, and a cloud of breath gathered in front of his face.

His frown deepened. _That doesn’t make sense. It’s not nearly cold enough for—_

Dimitri jerked his head.

_Hayden mentioned cold air right before the ambush._

“Wait,” he said, raising his hand. “Everyone, stop.”

Beside him, Felix arched an eyebrow.

Dedue and Sylvain joined them. “What is it?” Dedue asked.

“Hayden told us that the last thing he remembered before he was attacked was feeling cold.” He looked at Felix. “Exhale.”

“What?”

“Breathe out, Felix.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but did so. His eyes widened at the fog in front of him. “Boar?”

“You’re right; it’s cold, and it’s not normal. Be careful. Dedue, on my right. Sylvain, Felix, stay close.”

As one, they lined up along the trail. Dedue rested his hand against his heavy axe as he guided Fern forward to stand on Dimitri’s blind right side. Sylvain slipped his lance lower on his back, and stayed close to Felix. The swordsman rested his hand on the grip.

Dimitri eased the strap of his lance onto his shoulder. “Don’t go too far apart,” he warned, and eased Eburos forward down the path. “Watch each other’s back.”

They made it another half-mile before Dedue said, “Arrows in the trail.”

He was right. A dozen arrows stuck out of the ground. Dimitri dismounted, approached. He looked around, crouched, and yanked one of the arrows free. The head was the same as the one that had injured Hayden, all cruel barbs and tearing metal. “Damn it.” He dropped the vile thing at his feet. “We’re on the right track.”

He turned to look at his friends, and was alarmed to see their breaths fogging the air in front of their faces. Abruptly, a shiver crawled down his spine, and he staggered, gripped Eburos’s reins for balance.

He met Dedue’s gaze. The other man began, “Dimitri, what is—"

A dozen arrows whipped through the air, slicing between them, landing solidly in the trees on the other side of the trail. Felix cursed, whirled, and threw a lightning spell in the direction of the arrows. Sylvain yelped when a second volley landed all around him; Nero reared, shrieking in panic.

“Sylvain!” Dimitri leapt for Eburos, pulled himself into the saddle. The horse snorted, pacing wildly.

Dedue urged Fern in front of Dimitri. “Stay back,” he said. “If they fire again—”

“If they fire again, they’ll hit you,” Dimitri snarled. “We need to get out of here.”

Sylvain tugged on Nero’s reins, pulled the horse out of the arrow trap, and just as he did, he lifted his head. “Hey, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Other than the blood pulsing in his ears, Dimitri couldn’t hear a damn thing. He felt an arrow whip past his head. He gasped, lowered his body close to Eburos’s saddle, and flicked the reins. “Ride! Ride, everyone, ride!”

“No,” Sylvain insisted. “I heard—”

An arrow tore across his shoulder. He roared in pain as the barbed ends ripped his shirt to shreds and tore into his flesh.

“Go, you idiot!” Felix bellowed, and rode up behind him, swatting Nero’s flank. Nero whinnied, and raced down the trail, wounded rider in tow. Felix kept pace, even as more arrows fell in their wake.

Dimitri and Dedue rode behind them. “We need to do something,” Dimitri said. “We need to lead them away.”

“I don’t see how that helps anyone,” Dedue argued.

“Sylvain’s hurt. He needs to get out of the woods. If we stay together, we’re a moving target. If we separate, he has a better chance of getting out.”

“If we separate, we are several moving targets.”

Dimitri cursed. Of course, Dedue was right, but their friend was hurt.

_And Byleth is still missing._

“Dimitri!”

“What?”

“On your right!”

Dimitri ducked, felt the rush of wind as an arrow flew past his head. A second one _thunked_ into a tree, and he gasped, horrified by the sound of the ugly thing impacting wood. If one of them took a direct hit…

“The tree line!” Felix shouted. “We’re almost there. Sylvain? Sylvain! We’re almost there. Hold on!” His voice rose in pitch, panicked. “Sylvain? Sylvain, answer me!”

Dimitri dared a look ahead. Sylvain was doubled over in the saddle, swaying. His wounded arm fell to the side.

_He’ll fall._

_If he falls, he’s dead._

_He can’t fall._

Dimitri cracked Eburos’s reins. _Faster, Eburos. Come on, boy, faster._ The horse’s hooves pounded on the trail, and he came up alongside Nero’s right side. The other horse was clearly aware of his injured rider, but too frightened to calm. Dimitri gripped the reins in his right hand, reached out for Sylvain, whose eyes were half-closed, his face spattered with his own blood. “Sylvain! Hang on!”

Dimitri’s first attempt to grab him failed, and his second managed to grip a handful of Sylvain’s vest. Sensing his rider’s peril, Nero slowed just enough that Dimitri could pull his semi-conscious friend free, and hold onto him. The tree line was just ahead, and he urged Eburos on, breaking through the trees, with Felix and Dedue in tow, as a final volley of arrows landed across the forest entrance.

In the prairie grass outside, the horses wavered on their legs. Dimitri’s heart raced, but his entire attention was on Sylvain.

“Nice catch, Your Majesty,” his friend rasped, and offered a shaky smile.

Felix dismounted and raced over. “Give him here.” Felix got his hands underneath Sylvain’s arms as Dimitri gently eased him down to the ground. Felix helped Sylvain sit before his legs gave out. “Hold still.”

“Just patch me up,” Sylvain groaned, daring a look at his shredded shoulder. The barb had torn his sleeve and the top layer of skin away; blood streaked from shredded muscle, saturating his shirt. “You know you want to.”

“Oh, shut up.” Felix’s hand flickered with white magic and he pressed it to Sylvain’s wound. He took a breath, concentrated. Slowly, Sylvain’s flesh and muscle knitted together beneath his friend’s fingers, the soothing heat of healing magic contrasting with the numbing cold that he only now realized consumed the wound.

Sylvain grimaced, and remained still. He looked at Dimitri. “Thank you, Dimitri,” he said. “I mean it, thank you.” He craned his neck. “Is Nero—?”

“I have him,” Dedue said, walking over, holding Fern’s reins in one hand, and Nero’s in the other. “Are you all right?”

“He will be,” Felix grumbled. “How did you let yourself get distracted like this?”

“I heard something,” Sylvain insisted. “I don’t know, it sounded… I thought…” He shivered.

“What? What did you hear?” Dimitri asked.

“I’m not sure. It sounded like, like a hundred whispers. I didn’t understand it, whatever it was.” He sat up, leaned forward. “It was strange. Right when I heard it, I felt really cold. Now, I don’t.”

“That’s the healing magic,” Felix said.

“No, he is right,” Dedue said. “It’s warmer out here than in the forest.” He looked at Sylvain. “How are you feeling?”

Sylvain rotated his shoulder. “I’m fine. Felix is pretty good at healing, even if he’s an ass while he does it.”

“If I am an ass, it’s because you’re a bigger one.”

“You’re my best friend, Felix.”

“And you are a fool,” Felix said affectionately. He stood, helped Sylvain up. “Let me see.” He inspected the freshly healed wound, the freshly pink skin, scattered with scars. “You’ll be fine,” he said quietly, relief tingeing his voice. Without looking away, he added, “That was quick thinking, boar. Thank you.”

Dimitri nodded. “You would have done the same.”

“Not as stylishly,” Sylvain said.

Felix lightly punched his other arm.

“Ouch.”

“Shut up and hold still.”

Dimitri looked to the forest entrance.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” Felix said.

“Stay with Sylvain. You said it yourself, if she’s deeper in the trees, we’ll have to split up.”

“This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I said that.” He looked at the tree line, then at the sky. “Seteth said he’d send a wyvern at mid-day. We still have some time.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

Felix pursed his lips. “Practically, I suggest we wait.” At Dimitri’s stricken expression, he raised a hand and said, “However, given what we experienced in there, I’m afraid that the longer we wait, the more danger she could be in.”

Dimitri visibly relaxed.

“We can’t leave her in there,” Sylvain said. “She wouldn’t leave any of us.” At Felix’s irritated expression, he said, “I’m fine, Felix. It was barely a scratch before you healed it.”

“The hell it was, and your bloody shirt says otherwise.”

Sylvain looked at his torn sleeve. “I’ve had worse.”

Felix sighed.

“ _Are_ you all right?” Dimitri asked.

Sylvain smiled, lifted his hands, rested them behind his head with only the slightest wince. “What are we waiting for?”

“A plan,” Felix said. “We should send you back to Garreg Mach.”

“Felix, really, I’m fine.”

“After what just happened?”

“A little thing like this wouldn’t stop her.” Sylvain pointed at Dimitri. “If it was him, you wouldn’t dare suggest he go back.”

Felix grimaced. “You aren’t wrong,” he muttered. “But don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

“He wouldn’t listen to you anyway.”

“Why can’t you take inspiration from a sensible person, like Her Grace?”

“Oh, you think _she’d_ do what you say in a situation like this?” Sylvain snickered. “Felix, sometimes I think you forget who our friends are.”

Felix glared at him. “Fine. Idiot.”

“You wouldn’t trade me for anything.”

The swordsman heaved a sigh. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

“Hey,” Sylvain said. “Thanks for patching me up. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be dead a few dozen times over.”

“You’re my best friend, Felix.”

Felix reached over, and pushed hair out of Sylvain’s eyes. “You are a fool,” he murmured. “Don’t frighten me like that again.”

Sylvain gave him his best smile. “Come on, Felix. Let’s go save our friend.”

Felix nodded, looked at Dimitri. “Well, we are agreed: let’s find Her Grace.”

Dimitri offered a small smile.

“Now, the question is how we go about doing that. Our first attempt was a failure, as I think we can all agree.”

Dimitri nodded. “We need to go back in, though.”

“We could split up along the trail,” Dedue suggested.

Felix frowned. “That’s too risky. If one of us is ambushed, how quickly can we get to him?”

Dedue thought for a moment. “Who is the fastest rider?”

“Dimitri,” Sylvain and Felix said in unison.

Dimitri folded his arms in silent agreement.

“Sylvain, you are the second fastest?”

“Probably,” Sylvain said, wincing as he shrugged his newly-healed shoulder.

“I suggest Sylvain remain on horseback,” Dedue said. “You can patrol the trail closest to the tree line. We know Her Grace is on foot. She is likely trying to find the tree line behind us.”

“What makes you so certain?” Felix asked.

“She has been out here all night. If she is conscious, she would follow the sunrise to the east.”

“And if she went the wrong way?”

“What is the wrong way? She might have gone west, in which case we are losing time, and if she went south, we will lose more.”

“Plus going south through those woods means we’ll be on foot.” Felix grimaced. “I could patrol the southern edge of the woods, but I don’t think we can afford to separate like that.”

“We can’t,” Dimitri agreed. “We need to stay close enough that if one of us is in trouble, the others can help.”

“If we had a wyvern rider to spare, it might be different,” Felix said.

“A wyvern could circle above, remain vigilant and wait.”

Felix sighed. “Seteth will send one, but it’ll be some time.” He looked north, in the direction of the monastery, then back to the forest. He folded his arms, lost in thought. Finally, he looked at Dimitri and said, “We didn’t make it that far into the woods, perhaps two miles at the farthest. Based on where we saw those arrows in the dirt, I would wager her horse ran south into the woods. Do you agree?”

Dimitri nodded. “I do, and I think Dedue is on to something. Have Sylvain remain on horseback and patrol the trail no further than two miles in. Better if you stay closer to the exit.”

“You don’t have to twist my arm to do that.” Sylvain rubbed at his shoulder. “Felix, you said Seteth will send a wyvern at mid-day?”

“Yes.”

“What if Felix patrolled the trail, and I waited here for the wyvern rider? I can tell them what happened, to start circling overhead. Then, I meet with Felix, and we work the trail.” Sylvain looked at Dimitri. “Then, we don’t split up too far, and if you find her, hey, you’ve got a healer, too.”

Dimitri looked at Dedue. “I don’t have a better idea.”

“Nor do I.”

Felix strode over to Hazel, mounted the horse. “I’ll wait with Sylvain. I can ride the edge until the wyvern rider arrives, and once they do, we’ll explain the situation and then we’ll head for the trail.”

“How far do you think our horses can get us into that thicker tree growth?” Dimitri wondered.

“Not far,” Dedue said. “Much as I hate to leave them alone, perhaps we should ride to the ambush site, and then continue on foot from there.”

“Leave Eburos here,” Felix said. “Fern can carry both of you.” He looked at the horses. “Eburos is strong and fast, and he’ll be our reserve horse.” At Dimitri’s frown, he explained: “If you find her hurt, you’ll need to get back to Garreg Mach as soon as possible. We all know you won’t leave her side if that happens.”

“I’ll keep a close watch on him,” Sylvain promised.

Dimitri nodded, looked at Dedue. “Are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Then let’s go.”

Dedue mounted Fern, helped Dimitri up behind him. Dimitri gripped his friend’s vest. “Everyone be safe,” Dimitri ordered. “Let’s do our best to rendezvous at sundown.”

“Boar.”

“What, Felix?”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“I know, but, for once in your life, lie to me.”

Dimitri saw the concern in his friend’s eyes. Dedue glanced at him, as if to say: _a lie will make this easier._

Dimitri forced the cockiest grin he could. “Felix, it’s me.”

“I know.” Felix sighed. “Go, boar. Don’t give Her Grace a reason to rescue you.”

“Watch out for each other.” Dimitri took a breath. “Dedue, go. Now.”

Dedue cracked Fern’s reins, and war horse took off down the trail at a steady pace.

Felix watched until he could no longer see them.


	7. Chapter 7

Byleth stopped marking trees when she recognized the same old, overgrown conifer for the third time. The quartz rocks scattered around its base gave it away, and she finally accept the unpleasant reality: _I’m going in circles._

_At least I haven’t seen or heard any more shadows._

She hadn’t seen the man in white, either. The very thought of him tensed her shoulders, and she hugged her cloak tighter. It was at least warm, where the air around her was not. She scanned her surroundings for any sign of the tree line. Even if she could see the prairie beyond, she could squeeze by the trees and once she was in the grass, it was as simple as walking uphill.

She took a few more steps before she heard shouting in the distance.

She paused, listened closer.

She couldn’t make out the words, but they were men’s voices. She slowly turned in a circle, tried to pinpoint where the sound was loudest. She made it a full turn and then a quarter turn – _facing north? I think it’s north –_ and heard what sounded like a scream, followed by more shouting. It grew fainter, and she followed the sound, desperately wishing she could see the source.

_There are people in the woods, actual people._

She felt her throat spasm.

_Dimitri and the others? It has to be them._

She only made it five steps before she heard the man in white’s voice: “I told you I would find you, silent heart.”

She froze, and gripped her sword.

_I will not be frightened of you. I refuse to be afraid._

She turned, faced the man.

That terrible smile was visible beneath his long hood.

“Stay away from me,” she told him.

“You gave a good chase, but I desire more.”

She stepped back. _Walk backwards, go north. The trail is north. Go north, and I will find the way out. I just have to keep walking backwards. If I walk all the way to the path backwards, I can keep this bastard in my sights._

She blinked.

_“Damn it, kid. Don’t blink. Don’t take your eyes off of him.”_

She swallowed, took another step.

The man in white lifted a hand. “You can run, silent heart. I will still find you.”

She drew her sword at the same time he took a step towards her. “Touch me again,” she dared him. “We’ll see how you find me then.”

He smiled, and lunged at her.

She stepped forward, swung the sword down across his body. She expected to feel the metal edge strike flesh, bone, and organs, to split him in two. Instead, time seemed to stop, and she did not breathe again until the blade struck the ground, embedded in the soil. She gasped, looked at the man in white, whose cruel smile never changed.

“I do not need to touch you, silent heart.”

Enraged at the familiarity in his voice, she yanked the blade free of the soil. She stepped back, raised her sword in a defensive stance. He never stopped smiling.

She felt heat rising in her cheeks.

_Fear._

She grunted, and brought her blade up in an underhand blow.

_Aim for his center._

He seemed to melt into the air, his white robes billowing as he easily stepped out of her path.

Byleth stepped back, felt her cloak tangle around her legs. She kicked the fabric free, and lunged at the man in white. He side-stepped.

Angry and frustration, she took two steps forward. Her advance startled him, and he raised his hands. She moved faster, got close, dropped and rolled behind him. She swept her foot at his legs.

_When in doubt, don’t be afraid to fight a little dirty._

The blow did not connect. The man in white simply wasn’t there. She jerked her head up, and felt his hand wrap around her throat. He yanked her upright with enough force to stun her.

She coughed, gasped as the air grew blisteringly cold around them.

Breath fogged around her, and she felt her cheeks redden with the sudden chill. It felt like it was coming from within, bleeding out from her core, above her heart. Her skin felt like ice, and the leather wrapping of her sword hilt felt clammy and slick with frost. Her hands shook violently, and she clumsily tried to swing the sword as the man crowded her space.

“I do not need to touch you,” he repeated, his lips curled back from his teeth. “I simply want to.”

His fingers were strong, and he wedged his thumb against her jaw, anchoring his hand in place. Byleth had never felt another’s skin so frigid, not in life, and as his hand tightened around her throat, she tried to scream. It came out as a barely audible squeak.

The man in white smiled. “Such warmth. What makes you so warm, silent heart? What fuels your fire?”

She choked, switched her sword to her left hand. The attempt was amateurish, as if she were wielding a blade for the first time. He chuckled, batted the sword away. “You do not need this,” he said. “Drop it.”

She tried again, survival instinct overpowering her sense.

He _tsk_ ed. “Stop fighting.”

She gagged as his grip tightened.

“You are alone, silent heart.”

Her vision narrowed. She swapped hands again, drew her arm back, prepared to stab him. She thrust the blade forward, one last attempt to free herself.

The blade struck nothing.

She gagged, struggled, and tried again.

“That is quite enough.”

His free hand gripped her wrist, squeezed. Her nerveless fingers opened, and the sword fell to the ground with a devastating _thunk_. The pain refocused her, and she tried to kick at him. No matter how she tried, she could not make contact, could not strike him.

Her skin burned where he touched her, and then he released her sword hand, and rested his palm over her heart. A frigid fire spiraled out from her center, and she managed a weak cry. Her throat convulsed beneath his grip, as she struggled to breathe and choked on meager sips of air.

“No one is coming for you.”

 _No! No, they will come for me!_ He _will come for me._

Desperately, she clawed at his hand with her fingers, scratched him. Her skin felt colder by the moment. He leaned closer to her; his cruel smile was visible through her greying vision. “Stop fighting, silent heart. There is nothing left.”

She flung her hand at his face, raked her fingernails across his skin. He made an irritated sound, and she felt the cold creep upwards to the crown of her head. Abruptly, she was on the ground. She gasped, struggled to her hands and knees, shivering so hard she feared she might shake herself into a thousand pieces.

“You did not need to fight me.”

She crawled away from him, but each movement was agony. She had never felt this kind of cold. Nothing could feel this way and survive. This was not normal, this was a dark form of magic, something she had no weapon against. She huddled on her knees, the urge to cry overwhelming, and yet no tears came. She gasped, but not even a weak sob escaped her lips.

_He’s going to kill me._

There was a sensation like an arrow piercing her heart. Her back arched, and she screeched as an ever-sharper cold crept through her body. Deathly cold fingers dragged through her veins and muscles, across her skin, and burrowed deep within her bones.

_I am going to die here. I will die here in the cold, alone and lost, and they will find nothing left but a frozen corpse._

If _they find me._

_Oh, beloved. I do not want you to find me like this. It will destroy you._

She had never felt such despair in her life.

What felt like an arrow seemed to twist, and ripped out of her. Just as quickly as the cold began, it faded, retreating to her center, and she longer felt warmth or cold, merely an absence, a hollow nothingness. The despair, the fear, the terror, all diminished, until there was nothing left to fear or feel.

Her head bowed forward, and a single dark blue lock of hair fell into her vision.

“Interesting.”

On her knees, head bowed, she stared at the ground. A faint breeze scattered leaves in its wake, a multitude of colors for which she had no reaction. The soil beneath her was cold and distant, the barest hint of sensation, but nothing more.

A warm hand rested on the back of her cold neck.

“I told you, silent heart. I do not need to touch you.”

The warm fingers trailed through her hair.

“I wanted to.”

She felt nothing.

“And you were so warm.”

Her lips twitched, as if trying to speak.

“I thank you for your warmth, silent heart.”


	8. Chapter 8

Dedue and Dimitri rode to the ambush site, and turned south in to the trees. Two hundred feet in, Fern grunted, and stomped her great hooves against the soil. “It is all right,” Dedue soothed her. “Come on, Fern, you can go further.”

She made it another fifty feet before the horse snorted, and shook her head from side to side. Beneath the dense canopy of trees, the minimal light, she stubbornly refused to move.

Dimitri barely waited for her to stop moving before he eased himself down to the ground. He adjusted the silver lance across his back. “Coming?”

Dedue nodded. He dismounted, retrieved his axe from Fern’s saddle. He patted her neck, and as soon as he gave her room, she backed several feet away. She started for the ambush site, and paused instead near a small group of trees and boulders. She sniffed the area, as if determining the safety. Once satisfied, she snorted, wisps of fog erupting from her nostrils.

Dedue shivered. “I cannot believe I am saying this, but I think I prefer winter weather.”

“Why?”

“It is predictable.”

Dimitri adjusted the buttons on his riding vest. “You prefer hip-high snow drifts, icy rivers, and bitter cold that you can never get out of your system, no matter how many fires you make?”

Dedue frowned. “That is not what winter is like.”

“It isn’t?”

“Not any winter I have experienced.”

“Ah, right.” Dimitri managed a half-smile. “Well, if you hadn’t almost gotten yourself killed saving my life all those years ago, we could have experienced those winters together.”

Dedue stared. “Are you attempting to make a joke?”

The half-smile turned sheepish. “And doing a poor job of it.”

“You clearly need to spend more time with Alois.”

“Clearly.”

“Dimitri?”

“Hm?”

“We will find Byleth.”

Dimitri nodded. “I know. With you at my side, I know we’ll find her.”

**_You have already failed. You fled at the first sign of danger. She is lost and you fled._ **

**_You will find nothing left. You will find nothing but a void in the world, and when you sleep tonight, you will hear her voice, screaming from the shadows. She will beg for you to save her, and you, once again, will fail._ **

He blinked, closed his eye, took a deep breath. “Leave me alone,” he muttered.

Dedue gripped his shoulder so tightly that Dimitri gasped.

“What are you hearing?” Dedue wondered. There was no judgement, no fear in his voice, simply the concern of a trusted friend.

“Words,” Dimitri admitted.

“Whose?”

“… It doesn’t matter.”

“Listen to my words, instead.” Dedue tightened his grip just enough that Dimitri met his friend’s gaze. “She is strong and she can protect herself. However, we are stronger together, are we not?”

Dimitri nodded.

**_What does he know? He says things to make you complacent, to make you weak. You will fall into false hopes and dreams, and when you find her bones picked clean, what then?_ **

He winced.

“Listen to me,” Dedue said, and released his shoulder. “Byleth trusts me to look out for you in her absence. Trust me as you would her.”

Dimitri’s smile was tense but genuine. “I do.”

“Good. Now, let us continue.” Dedue examined the axe in his hand. He tested the edge with his thumb. “Trust this as well: if we find her harmed, and the guilty party is present, we will deal with them.”

“We will,” Dimitri agreed. He unstrapped the lance from his back, dropped it into his right hand.

The trees grew ever-denser as they walked. Moderate to massive rock formations marked their path, and every now and then, they saw broken quartz crystals scattered among the brilliantly colored leaves. Some trees had lost great chunks of bark, revealing pale wood beneath, riddled with paths left by burrowing insects.

When they found a felled tree blocked their path, finding the toppled base took more time than either man liked. “That was not made by an axe,” Dedue said, looking at the ragged edge of the stump.

“Magic?”

“Most likely.”

Dimitri crouched, examined the stump. A concussive blast had ripped it into jagged, fibrous blades. The stump was angled, the wood singed, though it did not smell like fire. There was something sharper in the air, ozone, the scent of hot steel.

“Lightning?” Dedue wondered. “To create this kind of damage would take a powerful mage, someone skilled and precise.”

“Or someone was angry,” Dimitri mused. “See how torn up the wood is? It’s like a child throwing a tantrum.”

Dedue nodded. “Not an inappropriate comparison.” He stood, rolled his shoulders. “I am grateful to only know very controlled mages.”

“Me, too.” Dimitri examined the tree.

**_Familiar, yes? Looks like a few of the throats you have ripped apart in your life. Whoever did this was filled with rage, wrath, ruin, and hate. You know those feelings intimately. You know what it is like to crush skulls, to break bones, to shred flesh until nothing remains._ **

**_When you find her dead, and her killer is there, will you rip them apart with your hands? Or will you use your teeth?_ **

Dimitri grimaced, shook his head. _Enough. Enough, enough,_ enough.

His bangs fell in his good eye. Irritated, he braced his lance against his arm, removed a leather strap from his wrist, and tied his hair back. He looked toward Dedue for a reaction, a furrowed brow, a frown of concern, but the other man’s attention was centered on the tree.

_He did not see. That is a mercy._

“This happened recently,” Dedue said, fingers gingerly inspecting the wood shards. “Not yesterday, or the day before, maybe not even this week. Within the past month, maybe?”

Dimitri followed Dedue’s lead, focused on the tree. “It smells fresh enough.”

“No mushrooms are growing on the trunk, and I don’t smell rot, either.” Dedue pursed his lips. “Dimitri, I do not think she came near this spot. If she had, this is a good place to rest, to hide. She would have stayed in one place.”

Dimitri knew he was right. “Let’s get around it, like we planned. There might be another path we missed.”

They walked around the downed tree, found the densely-packed trees and colorful leaves. Dimitri raised his head, tried to squint through the canopy to determine the time of day. Without birdsong or even the sounds of squirrels or other animals, he couldn’t make a good guess either.

He frowned. _No birdsong, no animals._

“Dedue, do you hear that?”

Alarmed, Dedue said, “No. Why? What do you hear?”

“Nothing.”

Dedue looked at him blankly.

“Something’s missing,” Dimitri said.

Understanding dawned. “It’s too quiet here. There should be animals. There should be something to indicate life.”

“Exactly. Where are the animals?”

“Now that you say something, I haven’t heard a single bird since we came back in here.”

Dimitri looked around the trees, scanning the branches for any signs of birds or small animals. He saw no nests, not even a molted feather. He slipped his lance strap over his shoulders, folded his arms. “What the hell _is_ this place?”

They walked a few more feet. The trees were spaced farther apart; leaves were crushed into the ground, rocks and quartz scattered in a haphazard fashion. Dedue noticed impressions in the visible earth. “Horse tracks.”

Dimitri crouched, examined them.

“Isa, perhaps?” Dedue wondered.

“Maybe.” Dimitri probed at a deeper impression, as if a horse had put its entire weight on its hind legs. “Isa’s flank was injured.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it happened here. She reared, and…” He stood, scanned the ground. He found a nearly invisible rock, hidden among the rust and gold leaves. A crimson smear stood out against the pale grey stone. He knelt, dabbed at the smear. It was nearly dry, but what clung to his fingers was unmistakable. “Dedue!”

Dedue joined him. Dimitri raised his fingertips. “Blood.” He swallowed. “It must be hers. She cannot have gone far.”

A scream broke the air.

Dedue spun, his eyes widening with alarm.

Dimitri whipped his head around, searching for the source. His chest tightened as the scream continued, pain and despair in one violent outburst.

Together, they said, “Byleth.”

Dimitri took three steps, Dedue on his heels.

A strange, unfamiliar noise stopped them in their tracks. The cadence, the tone, sounded like words, but it was no language they knew.

Dimitri looked ahead, saw a group of figures dressed in white robes. Their faces were hidden by hoods or shadowed by hats. One stepped forward, wielding a sword. The figure raised the blade, pointed it at them. They grunted, or spoke, it was impossible to tell. The sword was threat enough; they held it with confidence and precision.

Before either Dimitri or Dedue could react, an arrow plowed into the ground in front of them. Neither dared to look for the archer.

Dedue grunted, and streams of breath plumed in front of his face. “It appears they want a fight, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri slipped his lance free, gripped it in both hands. “Then, my friend, let’s give them one.”

* * *

Felix could count on one hand the number of times in his life he’d been surrounded by enemies. There had been that time before the academy, when he rode off his family’s estate in a fit of anger, and fought off a group of wolves. There were two encounters after the assault on Garreg Mach, when he’d faced groups of imperial soldiers. The bastards were hell-bent on either killing him or taking him hostage against Faerghus, and Felix had proven he was no pawn, no easy mark for manipulation. He’d shown them just how much of his father’s son he was, used magic and the blade against them. He cut them down quickly and efficiently, a reminder to the Empire that while they held most of the cards, they did not hold the winning hand.

_They never did. Edelgard started a war she was always going to lose._

_Only fools start battles they cannot win. She left herself no way out._

He looked into the tree line. _Don’t be a fool, boar. Leave yourself a way out._

Dimitri and Dedue had been gone for about two hours, by Felix’s estimation. He and Sylvain had given the wyvern rider his orders and were staying close to the tree line. The rider had gone ahead, flown to the far western edge of the Verzhed Woods. “If Her Grace ran west, I’ll find her,” the man boasted, though after he was gone, Felix grumbled about having little confidence in him.

When Sylvain asked why, Felix said, “I trust our people.”

“Garreg Mach’s soldiers aren’t our people?”

“Not when it comes to matters like this.” Felix hunched over Hazel’s saddle.

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t think…”

“What?”

“You don’t think someone at the monastery had something to do with this, do you?”

“You mean hurting the guard?”

Sylvain nodded.

Felix shook his head. “Seteth doesn’t have a scheming bone in his body, and Alois couldn’t tell a lie if his life depended on it.”

“So that’s a ‘no.’”

“That’s a ‘no.’”

Sylvain grinned. “That’s a relief. I’d really hate to find out somebody at Garreg Mach was up to no good. We’d have to insist Her Grace come back to Fhirdiad for good.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“For Garreg Mach, yes, I think so.”

“For our people, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“For Faerghus. For Fhirdiad. Would it be so bad for Dimitri to have his wife at his side at all times?”

Sylvain made a face. “I wasn’t serious.”

“Then don’t say things like that.” Felix looked at him. “You’re not a complete fool. You know what it does to him when she’s gone.”

“That was one time, and we found him. Plus, you showed that priest. You reminded him where he stands.”

Felix snorted. “You don’t understand.”

“So, make me.”

“You know how you show up at my door almost every night?”

“Yes.”

“And what would you do if, one day, you showed up and I was gone?” Felix scowled. “And I never came back.”

Sylvain glared. “Felix, I get it. It’s not easy for them. Come on, I’m not stupid.”

“Answer the question.”

“I’d be upset.” Sylvain sighed. “Look, I’m scared, too. Our friends are in that forest. The woman who taught us most of what we know is missing. I’m scared out of my mind.” His grip tightened on the reins. “I can tell you are, too.”

“You got hurt.”

“I’m _fine_.” Sylvain rode up beside him. “Felix. Remember how angry you were with me during the war when I got hurt protecting you?”

“I’m still angry about that.”

“My point is, I got that scar, and a few others, keeping you and the others safe. I’d do it again.” Sylvain grinned. “Besides, ladies love scars.”

Felix huffed, disgusted.

“And sometimes it’s nice to point to a scar and say ‘I got this making sure my best friend lived another day.’”

“I take it back. You are a fool.”

“You wouldn’t trade me for anything.”

Felix reached out, brushed his hand over Sylvain’s newly-scarred shoulder. “You can’t claim this as a bravery wound. We were running away.”

Sylvain took his hand, squeezed it. “And you patched me right up.”

“Fool.” Felix lifted his hand and ruffled Sylvain’s messy hair. “Come along. You’ve gotten as much as you’ll get out of me today.”

“That’s great. So, while we ride, can I tell you my new idea?”

“If it involves flirting tactics, I do not want to know.” Felix gave Hazel’s reins a tug. “Come on. We need to keep an eye on the path.”

“Right.” Sylvain followed alongside him. “I was thinking about that hunting trip we were talking about during the spring festival.”

“Which one?”

“The one we briefly discussed before everything went to hell.”

“Ah, that one. We’ve hardly discussed it since. Why bring it up now?”

“Well, what if we plan for a winter trip?”

“Winter hunts are a challenge.”

“They are, and I know how much you love a challenge.”

Felix allowed a small smile. “Keep talking.”

“So, you know how we were just talking about how great it would be if Her Grace was in Fhirdiad for good?”

The smile vanished. “Yes.”

“What if, when we find her, and we know she’s safe, we talk to her and Seteth about having her stay in Fhirdiad during the winter.”

“The entire winter?”

“Yes, all four months.”

Felix frowned. “That’s quite the commitment.”

“It is. Now, think about how good it would be for our King and Queen to have four months in the same place. Winter is quiet in Fhirdiad; there isn’t much official business to attend to.”

“There are also grand balls, parties, and tavern stories every night.”

“Exactly! Now, imagine the Blue Lions, having a winter reunion party – no assassination attempts this time – and then you and I take Their Royal Majesties on a hunting trip.”

Felix instinctively wanted to object, but he could not, for the life of him, think of a good reason to do so. Instead, he said, “Where would we go?”

“Remember that old lodge Dimitri’s family had? Your father kept the key for the longest time.”

“I remember.”

“There’s a forest and hunting preserve outside that village; it’s near the sea, too. There’s a guest house on the property.” Sylvain tilted his head. “I think they’d love the idea. And we could all get away, get some rest and relaxation – _real_ rest and relaxation this time. It would be good. This year hasn’t been the best. It seems every time we turn around there’s something going on. They need a break, and what better than some real time away?”

“And with current events…”

“Exactly.” Sylvain smiled. “What do you think?”

“I think I will talk to Dimitri about it after Her Grace is safe and sound.”

“I knew you’d see things my way.”

“I said I would talk to him. Don’t get your hopes up.” Felix gave Hazel a gentle kick. “Now come on. Let’s see how far those two got.”

Sylvain didn’t miss the intrigued spark in his friend’s eyes. _Just hold on, Your Grace,_ he thought. _We need something good to come out of all this._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: This chapter contains graphic violence, blood, and auditory hallucinations.

The man in white watched as the woman’s hair changed beneath his touch. With every brush of his fingers, more of the pale green gave way to dark blue streaks. He wondered if he had truly experienced fascination before this moment. Certainly, magic was fascinating, and when it went a bit wrong, it was all the more intriguing, because then it was a puzzle to solve, an experiment to replicate, or an infection to cut out.

He wondered which one this woman fit into, and decided that it hardly mattered after he examined his hands. His fingers had long been pale, barely more than bones covered in skin, and now they were rosy pink, plump with life and warmth. Whatever she was – whatever magic allowed warmth where a heart did not beat – did not matter when this was the result.

He wanted more.

Another stroke of his fingers along her neck, through her hair, and more and more of the pale color vanished in favor of the dark blue.

He crouched, inspected her face.

Her skin was drained of color, even her lips. Her throat bore the marks of his fingers and hands, white burns against pale flesh. A brush of his hand against her skin revealed frigid flesh, the cold of a corpse, even as miniscule tremors shuddered through her body. She lived, though only just. There was nothing behind her eyes, he could see that clearly enough, no thought, no emotion, no life. This was a shell that breathed, like the others he’d consumed over the years.

There had been a time when he could count on one or two travelers each month. Some were warm with life, others warm with terror or pain, some with anger and some with conviction. It never mattered to him, for they were warm, and that was all he wanted. It was two years now since those reliable warm bodies had ceased coming into his woods, and his patrols had grown fewer and fewer in number, fading more with each passing day.

The few who were left roamed the woods now, on his behalf, wandering, hunting, alerting him when warmth drew near. They were not quite dead, nor alive; they existed in between, while wood rot and decaying leaves sustained them. He did not know what they had been in life, nor did he care. They had done their parts, and he had taken their warmth all the same. His magic gave those things some semblance of life, and the perpetual chill was his to command, easily manipulated to frighten and disorient the unaware. He felt them as he felt his own heartbeat, knew their instincts and skills as well as his own.

This woman had drawn his patrols’ attention numerous times. They felt nothing for her, merely noted her warmth, and moved on. It was not until he saw her for the first time, realized just how warm she was, that he had given the order to prevent her from leaving the woods. She glowed like an ember in the cold, a brilliant fire encased in flesh and magic.

_A silent heart and a warm body. What fuels your fire? Whatever it is, I benefit now._

He admired his hands. He felt stronger than he had in years, robust, empowered. It was not enough to leave these woods, oh, no, he would never leave, but it was enough to _feel_ something. He felt _alive_ , and not the way that rotten wood and leaves lived, the last dying gasps before nature consumed them. He inhaled a deep, cool breath, relished the taste of rot and frost on his tongue.

He had her to thank for this. No other traveler had ever granted him such warmth. He could not think of another who had fought back so strongly, either.

“What are you?” he murmured, crouched beside her. “What are you that I feel, for the first time in years?”

He studied her face, though he did not expect an answer.

Her eyes had drifted farther away. There had been ferocity, even intensity before, in that pale green gaze, especially when she raised a blade against him. Now, there was simply an empty gaze dotted with dark blue, and no sign of life.

He looked at that abandoned weapon on the ground. He loathed blades. Magic was a far more elegant weapon than a sword or spear. A single touch had ultimately brought this one to her knees.

He rested his warm had against her cold cheek. She did not blink. He reached his fingers to her throat, unclasped her cloak. The silver clasp snapped open, and the fabric pooled on the ground around her. He retrieved it, sniffed the fabric.

_Silver, oil, horse._

Disgusted, he lowered the cloak. The surrounding forest smelled of sweet rot and decay. It was preferable to the thing in his hands.

He expected something better, perhaps magical, a cloak that smelled of silk, flowers, fine perfume, not crude mineral oil. He expected the scent of riches, grand places, even good food. He expected smells that reflected the woman’s grace, her skill, and this thing did not suit her.

The cloak smelled like something a soldier might own, or an animal might sleep in.

The man in white wrinkled his nose. “What a foul thing,” he muttered. “Why would someone like you want something like this?”

He discarded the cloak on the ground, covered the sword. “Thank you for the chase and your warmth, silent heart.” He bowed to her. “The sun is in the sky, but the forest remains cold. If you fade in the night, I will bind you to these trees. A ghost must have a proper home, yes?”

She visibly shuddered.

“You will be the ghost of the woods. A warning, no, a lure, for others. I wonder what others might come in your wake.”

He stroked his hand across her cheek. A rasp exited her throat, and her eyes rolled back into her head. The last measure of warmth flitted over his fingers, settled in his hands. He smiled, marveling at how the precious heat enveloped his bones, made his blood hum, and his heart increase its tempo.

How had this woman sustained herself without a beating heart? What magic was this? He studied her blue-streaked hair, the whites of her eyes, her pale lips, and her throat, bruised white by his fingers. Perhaps he would wait throughout the night, watch what became of her.

He found himself wondering at the interest he felt, the desire to take, the hunger for more knowledge. What mysteries dwelt within the woman before him? How long had it been since he’d been so curious about magic, about its uses and outcomes? How long since he’d felt warmth within his own chest?

He longed to learn more. Magic gone wrong was the most interesting of magic, after all.

The man in white felt a cool breeze whisper among the trees and stones, whipping the mulit-colored leaves into a frenzy. He listened to the wind, heard the distant sounds of metal against metal. Fighting in the forest? Had his patrol encountered others? How strange, to have travelers who stayed long enough to do battle.

Curious, he turned his back on the woman, and listened.

* * *

Sylvain pulled Nero to a stop. “Felix, do you hear that?”

Felix grimaced. “What now?”

“It… it sounds like a fight.”

Frowning, the swordsman gently pulled on the reins. “Whoa, Hazel, whoa.” The horse grunted, and stopped. Felix stood up in the saddle, listened intently.

It was faint, but, there was something happening. He squinted, stared into the trees. They were too thick, muffling all sounds, but, he heard _something_ …

“There it is again.”

“Sylvain, what are you hearing this time?”

“It isn’t voices,” Sylvain said. “Hey, look, the ambush site.”

So it was. Felix looked down at the dozen arrows piercing the ground. What a grim landmark. A flicker of a memory – _Sylvain’s blood erupting from his shoulder_ – forced him to briefly his eyes. He willed it away. _Sylvain is alive; he is safe. He is here with me, and we are_ safe _._

_Clang._

Felix jerked his head up.

“You heard that,” Sylvain said.

“Yes. That’s a fight.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Sylvain urged Nero off the path. “Come on, Felix! Dimitri and Dedue might be in trouble.”

“Sylvain, wait, don’t—ah, damn it!” Felix flicked the reins, and Hazel whinnied in protest, before following. They barely made it two hundred feet, before they were met by the sight of Fern, anxiously pacing amidst a group of trees.

“They definitely went this way,” Sylvain said, and dismounted. “Hey, Fern, hey, it’s us.” He caught the war horse’s reins, petted her nose, whispered soothing words until she snorted, stomped her hooves, and snuffled his hair. “There you are. Good girl.” He saw the water skin still attached to her saddle, tested it, found it full. He retrieved the skin, strapped it to his belt.

“You have quite a way with these animals.”

“They like me.”

“Whereas they tolerate me.” Felix dismounted, patted Hazel’s neck. “Except for you, Hazel. You’re a practical horse.”

_Clang._

“There it is again. They can’t be fair. Come on, Felix.”

“Can we afford to leave the horses?”

“We don’t have a choice. We’ll find them again.” Sylvain looked around, found a nearly bark-bare tree. “Here, mark this tree.”

Felix understood. He drew his sword, cut a jagged ‘X’ into the tree. “There. Find more trees like this so we can find our way out of this damned place.”

_Clang._

Felix frowned. “And the sooner we are out of here, the better.”

Sylvain adjusted his lance over his shoulders. “Hurry. They could be in trouble.”

“I am right behind you.”

* * *

The white-robed figures were intimidating in shadow, but then their apparent leader stepped fully into the dim light. The robes billowed around them, and the sword in their hand was certainly sharp enough. When they tilted their head in the light, Dimitri could only stare at their face, while Dedue made a startled sound. There _was_ no face, not a proper one; the features were there, but the eyes seemed welded together, and the mouth contained sharp teeth, visible behind thin, drawn back lips. The leader made those sounds – _they have to be words; what_ are _these things?_ \- and waved their sword at Dimitri.

He did not need to guess their intention.

While they carried a sword, they did not seem to know how to use it properly. Dimitri dodge the first downward strike, and side-stepped the second. The sword strikes were clumsy, heavy and uncoordinated. The figure grunted, repeated nonsense, and tried to rush Dimitri. The King was faster, and gripped his lance in both hands, brough it up at an angle, caught his attacker’s throat. Blood erupted in a geyser, and the white-robes turned red. The attacker lost their sword, and their hands reached for their throat; a horrific gurgling noise issued forth before they collapsed and did not move again.

Beside him, Dedue had his own problem to deal with. A figure nearly as tall as he was, carrying a pathetic excuse for an axe. It looked like a repurposed instrument for cutting wood, not for battle. His attacker was as clumsy as Dimitri’s; they flailed with the axe, coming nowhere close to striking him. Dedue knew they had no time for this foolishness, not with this group – _How many of them? Ten?_ – and with one great blow, he lopped off the assailant’s head. The body wobbled for a few seconds before toppling sideways, the head having vanished into the woods.

Dedue let out a breath, and was startled to find an archer racing towards him.

 _What archer does_ that _?_

Taking no chances, he ran at _them_ , and slammed his axe into their middle. They let out a squawk, revealing their sharp teeth, now dappled with blood. Disgusted, Dedue pried his axe free, just as another archer foolishly charged him. Why were they not firing arrows? They had been keen to do so earlier, so what was different now? Irritated, he met their attack with a bloody axe, and caught another unwelcome glimpse of those horrible sharp teeth.

Meanwhile, Dimitri was waiting for the other figures to attack. Two sword-wielders obliged, charging, and uttering strange, ghastly noises. Grunting, he blocked their attacks, though one got a lucky graze across his right arm. He hissed at the sting, the stickiness of bloody cloth, and tricked his attacker by feinting an attack. The other stopped, as if startled by his speed.

He dropped to the ground, which the figure clearly did not expect. He swept his leg at theirs, upending them. They crashed into to the leaf-strewn earth, stunned. He leapt back to his feet, spun his lance and slammed it home into their chest, right into their heart. The attacker twitched and lay still.

_My beloved taught me that one._

_If any of you bastards have hurt her, I swear, I will do ten times worse._

**_That is the spirit. You know what you have to do._ **

He spun to face the other blade-wielder, who no longer seemed so eager to fight. Dimitri offered a grin to the other, and gestured with his head to the dead one at his feet. “Afraid?”

With an unintelligible, indignant screech, they raised their blade in a two-handed grip and brought it down. Dimitri dropped and rolled, coming up behind the attacker. He slashed his lance across the back of their white robes. They howled, whirled on him, and he thrust the lance forward, impaled them. To his horror, they started to walk, moving their skewered body _up_ the blade, pulling their body towards him.

He stepped back, yanked the lance with him. The gore-spattered figure was already dead by the time they hit the ground. Dimitri looked at the red stained lance in his hand, and thought he might vomit.

At the same moment, a lance-bearer attacked Dedue. He blocked the blow with a grunt. This attacker had some vague idea of what they were doing with the weapon, but they still put too much force into the attack. Their momentum brought them too close to Dedue, who seized the opportunity and swung his axe at the assailant’s arm. The limb went flying, and the lance landed with a heavy _thunk_ on the ground. Dedue buried his weapon in the figure’s chest. The figure’s face turned downward, the lips pulling back as if to say something. Uninterested, Dedue wrenched the axe free, and the figure slumped to their knees.

He turned to find Dimitri, staring blankly at his lance. The blade and handle were coated in red and some darker substance, and blood spattered the King’s face. Dedue saw a shadow on his right side.

“Dimitri, look out!”

Dedue charged and shoved him aside.

Dimitri heard the sound of metal driving into flesh. He felt Dedue’s shoulder collide with his as the bigger man staggered. The stench of blood filled the air. He heard a second impact, the tearing of muscle, and the brutal crack of bone.

 **_You have done it again. You have killed him. Once again, he dies for your worthless life. What are you doing? Why are you here? This man has given all he is to you and your cause, and you let him die,_ ** **again _, in your place?_**

**_Only animals sacrifice their own so readily—_ **

“No!” Dimitri lunged forward, away from Dedue, launched himself at the nearest white-robed figure. This one carried a bow, but they clumsily readied an arrow. It was too slow. Dimitri thrust his lance forward, pierced the figure’s throat, yanked the blade free, slashed it to his left, disemboweling another lance-bearer. The figures slumped to the ground, blood and viscera mingling together with the soil and leaf litter.

**_That is the way. Rip them to pieces. Show them what you are. You are rage, wrath, ruin, and red-stained hands. What are they except enemies? Do not stop until they are nothing but dust beneath your boots._ **

**_They are the rats who took her. They must be._ **

**_When you find her bones, you can tell her that she is avenged._ **

He shook his head, distracted. “Stop it!” he roared, and lunged at another white robe. This one blocked his attack, a steel sword squealing against a silver lance.

**_Ah, a fighter. Good! Show them your teeth._ **

Dimitri attacked, thrust the lance forward. His opponent blocked the blow, cast the lance aside. He moved in from the left, as clearly as he could see them, swept the lance across their middle. Red stained their white robes. They swung their blade at him; he caught the blow, trapped the blade, and flipped them. They spun in the air, lanced on their back. He inverted his lance, plunged the blade down into their chest. Blood erupted, splattering his boots and trousers.

He staggered back from the bloodied robes. His head spun, and he distantly heard metal on metal. Had the figures turned on one another? No matter. There was a white flash to his left, and he spun, thrust his lance into the figure, dead center.

With a confounded grunt, the figure dropped to the ground.

Dimitri stood over them, panting. He wiped his hand across his bloodied face, smelled the stuff on his skin.

He heard footsteps, cracking branches, crunching leaves. He saw another archer to his left. He advanced on them, without a second thought. These people – _creatures? It doesn’t matter_ – had nearly killed Hayden, had likely hurt or killed Byleth, were responsible for hurting Sylvain. There was no point capturing one alive.

_Dedue._

His head ached with grief and rage.

_You killed Dedue. Why should I leave you alive?_

He gripped his lance as he charged. The figure panicked, fumbled with an arrow – _one of those barbed monstrosities; you won’t hit me, you won’t get a chance –_ and he rammed the lance into their chest, angling his body away from the bow. They hadn’t had an opportunity to draw it back, and the bow and arrow dropped to the ground. Blood sprayed freely, and he yanked the lance free, jabbed it into their throat.

He stumbled to his knees. One of those jagged, vile arrows tumbled from the dead archer’s hand. His throat tightened. Had he and Dedue been less decisive in their actions, they might be the ones lying on the forest floor.

“Dimitri!”

 _Dedue_. _Dedue, my friend, no._

_Byleth’s gone. Dedue’s gone._

_This place is hell. I am trapped in hell._

“Dimitri?”

**_You do not have time for this. Get up._ **

He dragged himself to his feet, spun around.

“Dimitri, stop!”

 **_Do_ ** **not _stop. There are at least three more. Deal with them. Crush their bones. Break their necks. Taste their blood._**

“Stop him before he hurts himself!”

“ _You_ stop him!”

**_Deal. With. Them._ **

He advanced, blind to everything except the attackers. The figures in white had to be dealt with, stopped, and—

Powerful arms wrapped around him from behind, and _squeezed_.

He tried to jerk his head back, but connected with nothing but a shoulder.

“Dimitri! It is me. Stop fighting. Please! Please stop fighting.”

**_Stop fighting and you are dead! Dead, do you understand? Never stop fighting. Never let your guard down, do not ever stop fighting—_ **

“Shut up!” Dimitri screamed. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

The arms tightened, held him close. His hand felt numb and he dropped his lance.

**_Pick it up, you fool! Fight!_ **

“Stop!” he begged. “Just stop, _please_.”

The world was grey and red, and he could not feel anything except the rage in his heart, the fear, the grief – _Byleth and Dedue. Byleth and Dedue are_ gone _–_ and he roared his emotions into the air. There was nothing left but the void of nothingness, a return to the emptiness of hate and violence, and, and…

_Whose arms are these?_

Forearms thickly corded with muscle braced against his chest. Calloused hands gripped his arms, held him in place. He felt a powerful heartbeat against his back. He smelled spices and old paper, and…

“Dedue?” he whispered, and the last time he’d heard his own voice so broken had been two years ago, after Rodrigue’s death.

“I am here,” his friend said quietly. “I am worried for you, and you are frightening Felix and Sylvain.”

Dimitri slowly lifted his head, saw Felix and Sylvain standing a short distance away. Sylvain’s face was splattered with fresh blood, and Felix’s bloody sword hung at his side. They both stared at him, Sylvain’s eyes wide with concern, while Felix just stared at him, disgust and worry warring on his face. Finally, Felix stepped forward and said, “Are you all right?”

Dimitri wasn’t sure. He twisted his head, saw several bodies dressed in what had been white robes, now drenched in blood and viscera. The smell was overpowering. He breathed through his nose, felt Dedue’s arms increase in pressure.

**_Alive, then. You did not fail. Remarkable._ **

“Stop,” he whispered.

“I need to know that you are not going to hurt any of us.” Dedue’s voice was concerned but firm. “We still need to find Her Grace, and if you are out of commission—“

“I, I…”

Dedue lowered his voice, murmured in Dimitri’s ear: “I know who you were talking to.”

Dimitri froze.

“Remember, Your Majesty, listen to _me_ , listen to Felix and Sylvain. Do not let the voices of this place, or your own mind, distract you.”

He nodded. He took a deep breath, felt Dedue’s arms slowly loosen their grasp. When the other man released him, Dimitri whirled and hugged him. Dedue grunted in surprise, but returned it. “I am unharmed. Sylvain and Felix are safe.”

“Good.” Dimitri stepped back, wiped his hand across his face.

Dedue winced.

“It’s that bad?”

“I haven’t seen you look this bad since the war, boar,” Felix remarked.

“This really isn’t the time,” Sylvain said.

“It’s always the time.” Felix flicked the blood off of his blade. “In a way, I’m glad to know you’ll teach our enemies a lesson if you think one of us has been harmed.” He reached into his vest pocket, offered Dimitri a handkerchief.

Dimitri recognized it for the peace offering it was. Felix might never understand, but he would make an effort. Dimitri unfolded the cloth, wiped at his face. He felt sticky blood clinging to his face.

Sylvain approached, unclipped a water skin from his belt. “This might help.”

Dimitri smiled gratefully. He cupped his hands, splashed water over his skin, cleaned his face as best he could. “Better?”

“Much,” Sylvain said. “You only look half-dead, now.”

Felix had wandered over to inspect their fallen enemies. He counted ten, but only a few had bows. They couldn’t account for the multitude of arrows that had launched at them. A sloppy lot of fighters, that was for certain. He did not envy them their deaths.

“Be on your guard,” Felix called, probing one body with his sword. “You killed these, but there must be a second group.”

“I concur,” Dedue said. “Their archers did not behave like archers.” He wrinkled his nose. “Mind their teeth, Felix.”

“Their teeth?” Felix looked at a nearby body’s face. His lip curled in revulsion as he studied it. “These people were warped by magic. What did this?”

“This place?” Sylvain wondered. “I don’t know about you, but I want to find Her Grace, and get out of here.”

A scream pierced the silence.

A moment later, a half-dozen arrows pierced the ground at their feet.

“We don’t have time for this,” Felix said. “Make your decision: which way are we going?”

“We heard a woman scream right before they showed up,” Dimitri said. “Come on. Follow me.” He scooped his lance up from the ground, and started to run.

Dedue followed, axe gripped in his hand.

Sylvain and Felix ran after him.

They heard the crunching leaves and distinctive _tmp tmp tmp_ of feet on solid earth.

Felix whirled once, cast a lightning spell towards their pursuers. He did not dare attempt a second attack. They had no time to waste.


	10. Chapter 10

The world holds truth, and the woods hold secrets:

_Human beings have always wondered about death. They fantasize about it, ponder the greater mysteries of the causes and aftermath, wonder at the final moments. They hold rites and funerals for the dead, but these are circumstances for the living, and in order to hold them properly, someone alive must care for the deceased._

_There are stories of those who come so close to death that they no longer feel fear. They have touched the veil, the void on the other side, and they do not feel fear. They do not taste life the same as they once did, but they do not fear the end. They know it exists, and that is enough; they do not chase death, but they will not fight it when it comes for them._

_Then there are those who are alive, but Death’s fingers dig into their shoulders, holding them in the between stage. They linger there until Death grows tired of the game and decides if they should thrive or fade. To thrive is to walk away, head held high, and boast of survival. To fade is to die in obscurity, rotting in the middle of nowhere, with no one to miss or mourn the lost, and only a ghost left to linger, and wail their rage into the void._

_A ghost left alone long enough will become a revenant, a ghoul, some half-remembered thing that might have a spark of life within it still. It may even become a malicious spirit, one that desires the warmth and taste of humanity for the few short moments that make it feel like that spark might kindle into a flame. That moment turns into a dozen, then more, and soon there are living dead occupying a ghost’s domain. The ghost is no longer truly a ghost, but something half-alive, possessed of intelligence, cunning, and the skills of those it has consumed._

_Death is disgusted at this denial of the end. Death condemns the ghost:_ Be alone, be cold, be barren in mind and heart and soul, until thou heed the costs of denying the grave.

_But the ghost will ignore Death, for the ghost is stronger for what it has consumed. It takes a shape, a mind, a memory of the man it once was, and becomes something more. A man in white, and he is powerful beyond measure, beyond understanding. He laughs in Death’s face, and dares Death to fight him, for he has beaten Death at Death’s own game._

_Death has no power over him, and the man in white feasts upon another soul._

_This soul is pale green, bright in the darkness, and it tastes of all the things the man in white has forgotten, if he ever knew them to begin with._

* * *

Her vision was greying, coming in and out of focus. She saw the leaves upon the ground, scattered colors cascading across her hands. She saw but did not feel them.

A lock of blue hair tumbled in front of her face.

She looked in front of her, saw a man looking back.

He wore orange, his face was older, weathered. His hair was grey, and his eyes bore into hers. His hands reached for her face. If he touched her, she could not feel it.

_“Kid. You need to wake up.”_

* * *

There is a memory:

_There is a green field, in the middle of ruined buildings. The man in the orange jerkin speaks to a girl with bright hair, safe and sound after a daring attack. The girl giggles as the man shoos her away. He turns his back, and the girl buries a strangely curved blade in his back._

_He does not see it coming. He has survived a thousand battles, a hundred other small fights, a few wars, even, and this is how he dies: in the rain, with a blade in his back, and the last thing he sees are the blue eyes of his own daughter._

_“I’m sorry. It looks like I’m going to have to leave you now.”_

_She feels a tightness in her chest. Her throat constricts. Moisture films her eyes, and tears drip onto his face and shirt._

_He blinks, looks at her, and his whiskey-warm voice is filled with sorrow: “To think, the first time I saw you cry, your tears would be for me.”_

_He dies in her arms, and she buries her face against his broad chest. She listens to his heart stop beating. He dies with a sad smile on his face._

_Great, bone-breaking sobs assail his daughter. She clutches at his jerkin, even as the rain drowns the cloth, soaks her hair and clothes. She weeps for her father, the strongest man she’s ever known, and, weakly, she begs him to wake up, to come back to her._

_She cannot face a world without him in it. He is the only constant she has ever known, and without him, what is she? Who is she?_

_She shakes him. His blood soaks into the earth, stains her clothes. Still, she whispers, her voice alien to her own ears: “Come back. Please. Don’t leave me alone here.”_

_Her heart does not beat, but it can still break._

_Her heart breaks for the first time when her father takes his last breath._

* * *

There is a tower:

_Music fades into the distance._

_She steps into the silence. If it is cold, she does not feel it. If she feels anything, she cannot name it. She walks among the shadows, content in her own company._

_A man appears, young, his bright blue eyes hiding a darkness she cannot name. He has secrets, though he has trusted her with a few. She cannot recall his name, nor what she feels for him. In this moment, he might be no one._

_He is speaking to her._

_She hears his final words: “I would wish we could be together forever.”_

_He regards her, a smile on his face. There is something behind that smile, something else behind his eyes. He makes his wish a second time._

_She feels nothing for it._

* * *

There is a void:

_She sleeps._

_She does not dream._

_What dream could compare to the nightmare that is falling forever, with no hope of stopping, and leaving the ones she has only just begun to love behind?_

_Before she falls into the darkness, she realizes she does not know what love is. If it is real, she has not seen it, not felt it, and she cannot recall what it is to feel_ anything. _Her last conscious act is to scream, but even that is not possible when she cannot remember what rage or grief or hate or even simple pain are._

* * *

There is another tower:

_She climbs the stairs. She is in no hurry. Whatever awaits her has no meaning._

_She finds a man there. He is a stranger. His single blue eye stares at her._

_His voice is not human, and he believes she is a ghost._

_She does not know if he is telling the truth._

_She feels nothing for him._

* * *

There is the tower, again:

_She climbs the stairs. She is in no hurry. Who is waiting for her? The only person who ever cared for her is dead, long dead. The dead do not care about the living._

_What does it mean to care? She does not care. She does not know how._

_She finds a man at the top of the stairs. He is a stranger. His single blue eye studies her._

_His voice is not human, and he calls her a dream, a spirit, demands she leave him be. His voice cracks, and he pleads with her to leave him alone._

_He is clearly suffering, but what is suffering? She does not know._

_What is it to suffer, when one cannot feel?_

* * *

The tower, again, a third time:

_She climbs the stairs. She walks quickly. There is someone waiting for her._

_He says he is a dead man. He calls her cold, unfeeling. He wonders where she was when he needed her most._

_He says she is haunting him._

_She does not know who he is, nor why she should care._

_She cannot feel the stone beneath her fingers, nor the wind upon her skin._

_He stares at her, and asks, “Are you real?”_

_She cannot answer him._

* * *

The same tower, a final time:

_She climbs the stairs. She takes them two at a time. There is a dead man waiting for her._

_He will stare at her with his single blue eye. He will call her cold and unfeeling. He will say things that she cannot respond to, because she does not know how to feel._

_She reaches the top of the stairs._

_He is standing there, holding something in his hands. It is a cloak, black with blue trim. He is smiling, his expression softer. His single eye is fixed on her. He holds the cloak out to her._

_She takes it. Is it soft? Warm? She does not know._

_She raises it to her nose._

Silver shavings.

Weapon oil.

Horse.

_She feels nothing for these things. They are meaningless words, meaningless smells. They may belong to someone, but she cannot find it in her heart to care about them.She looks at him, and his expression is as blank as her soul._

_Behind him stands man in an orange jerkin._

_The man steps forward, past the one-eyed stranger. The man extends his hand to her. She takes it, though she cannot feel him. He smiles at her, reaches out, brushes a lock of hair out of her eye. It is pale green, not dark blue._

_The man in orange holds out his other hand to the one-eyed stranger. “I wasn’t here to do this,” the man says, and joins their hands. “You need to wake her up now. It’s on you.” As he steps away, the one-eyed man looks at her._

_“Wake up,” he says. “You must wake up.”_

_She cannot feel his hand in hers, and says, “I cannot feel anything.”_

_He reaches a hand towards her face. She cannot feel his hand, and she repeats: “I cannot feel anything.”_

_She says it over and over again, and wonders what this monotonous tone is coming from her lips. It is her own voice, repeating a phrase that has no meaning because she cannot feel anything from it. She cannot feel, and the one-eyed man stares at her with an expression she cannot read and does not understand._

_“Wake up,” he repeats. “You must wake up.”_

* * *

She was awake.

She blinked, and the world refocused. Her hands fisted in the dirt. She could not feel her fingers, had no sensation on her skin, no concept of touch or feeling.

She slowly turned her head, saw a black cloak pooled on the ground. Beneath it, she saw the unmistakable hilt of a sword. She did not know why, but she needed that blade in her hand. It was a necessity, a requirement.

_I cannot feel anything._

_I feel nothing._

_What is this absence? This void within me?_

_What am I?_

She remembered a man in white. She remembered hands on her throat, and nothing after.

She twisted her head, saw a man, on his knees, dressed in white robes.

He was screaming.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: This chapter contains graphic violence, including blood and gore.

The man in white was on his knees. His throat ached from screaming, his chest felt torn to pieces, his body a constant mass of pain and agony. He had expected his patrol would make quick work of whoever they had come across. They were armed, after all, with the weapons he had conjured so long ago. They should have been enough. The weapons should have been enough to prevent their erasure, their brutal deaths.

_How brutal. I felt each blow, each tearing of muscle and flesh, each severed limb, each final breath. I felt each one._

He felt every death blow, every inflicted wound, the pain of brutal, precise cuts.

He clutched at his robes, seeking phantom wounds that belonged to his patrol, not to him. All the same, their warmth was part of him, he had consumed what they were. He had never experienced pain like this, not within his memory. His mind flashed with images of the patrols’ final moments, as blood erupted from their bodies, their white robes turned to crimson, their weapons useless against foes who seemed made of shadows.

He took a deep breath. He felt some strange ache in his chest, a hollowness. They were tools, nothing more, yet, he felt… _grief_ , and what a strange thing _that_ was. He did not like grief, a tangled knot in his chest, and a ragged breath exiting his lungs.

He rubbed his warm hands over his cheeks and jaw. Streaks of moisture coated his cheeks.

_Tears. Now I am experiencing tears._

He could not recall ever crying in his life. Tears were a sign of weakness, and he was not sad. He could not grieve these things he had created. He had consumed them long ago; there was nothing to grieve. _How_ was he feeling these things?

_What is this foul magic? What are these feelings?_

The man in white hated not having answers. _Hate. That is a new one, as well. Hate, rage, anger, and what is this? Confusion._

He did not like mysteries that he did not create. He prided himself on outwitting his opponents, on draining and consuming them, converting them to his own tools. He had always been logical, clever, confident, powerful enough to put any traveler or offender to use, as fuel to be consumed, or a tool to use.

Now, strangers were in his woods, and they had slaughtered those same tools.

He rubbed at his throat. He felt the residual wound, a lance impaling his throat, the blade ripped free at the very moment of death. He recalled the final glimpse of his – _no, his_ patrol’s _–_ killer: a beast with one pale blue eye, face splattered with blood.

 _What human kills like that? What beast walks and slaughters like_ that?

_I was not expecting such a thing._

His chest ached at the thought of his patrols. Slaughtered, dead, eliminated from the Verzhed Woods. They would not rise again; they were half-alive, of course, and the half-alive could not rise once killed – _murdered; those bastards_ murdered _my patrols –_ and he uttered a cry of rage and sorrow.

What _are these feelings? They are_ tools _. They should not mean anything._

There were not enough travelers to replace what he had lost.

A price must be paid. He would use his own hands, if he had to. No matter who those killers were, they would pay. He would find them, inflict his magic upon them, and _they_ would walk in the woods with him, lives for half-lives.

 _You dared to take my patrols, my tools, and slaughter them. Who dares walk in my woods, among my trees, and kill what belongs to_ me _?_

His rage flushed his face with heat.

No, no, they were not worthy of joining him. They did not deserve to walk as he did among the trees and decay. He would find better servants, better tools. He would find more travelers. He might even leave the woods, finally. He might find a way to finally _leave_.

_Death has no hold over me. I have denied Death and all the trappings of it. I am the master of these woods. I will leave and you will know Death long before I do._

He recalled the one-eyed beast, the bloody face, the dead eye staring into the face of each one it killed. There was nothing in that gaze, nothing beyond slaughter, nothing human within. It was an animal, a cruel, vicious creature. There were others with it, but _that one_ , oh, that one was a monster.

_I am the only one who might be a monster around here, beast. I will not stand for you._

_Murderers. I will kill all of you for what you have done. I will show you Death before I am done._

Heat built deep within him, rose up until it emerged as a scream of rage. It was a scream that turned into a laugh – _had he ever laughed before? What a sensation! –_ and he twisted it into a screeching cackle. He climbed to his feet, bellowed into the trees a promise of vengeance, of murder visited for murder.

There was a second patrol out there. _They_ would do what the first had not.

 _Find these butchers. If you find the one-eyed beast, kill it_ slowly _._

* * *

Their pursuers caught up too quickly. Sylvain ducked around a tree just as two arrows _thunked_ into the trunk. Dedue was at his side, axe gripped in both hands. “Here they come,” Dedue said.

Sylvain stepped out from the tree; lance braced to strike. A sword-wielding assailant came over the small hill, screeching. They saw Dedue and his axe, and it appeared that some small semblance of sense came over them, because their attention turned to Sylvain instead. They charged, babbling nonsense, sword raised above their head.

Sylvain skewered them through the chest. He grunted at the strength required to push the lance blade directly through them. He cringed at the sickening _crunch-pop_ when the blade exited their back, severing their spinal column. The figure’s featureless face slackened, and, if they’d had eyes, they would have stared right into Sylvain’s.

He was very grateful that they did not have eyes. He did not want that nightmare.

He yanked the lance free, and looked at Dedue. “I counted eight,” he said, still catching his breath from their race through the trees. “This could be tougher than the last batch.”

“In what way?”

“Well, Dimitri’s more or less back to normal, and we’re all tired now.” Sylvain cocked his head. “We might need to help them.”

Dedue was about to respond, but paused at an abruptly silenced screech.

A lance-bearer had attempted to get the drop on Dimitri. The King, ready for the attack, had impaled the assailant’s head from below the chin, exiting the top with a fragile crack of a skull. Brain matter and blood streamed down the blade, and, with a disgusted grunt and a boot planted in the dead attacker’s gut, Dimitri yanked the blade free. The figure slumped to the ground, the lance thudding softly to the earth beside the fallen body.

Beside him, Felix slashed his sword down the front of an opposing sword-wielder. Felix was used to fighting capable, if not master, opponents. That these insane white-robed fools were clumsy did not impress him, and, in fact, made him feel a bit disgraced. It was hardly fair to kill creatures like this, when it was clear they were not in possession of their own faculties.

As they fell to his blow, blood spurted across his shirt. They flailed with their blade, made a last-ditch effort to stab him. Felix knocked the blade aside, and impaled his attacker through their heart. They gagged, twitched, and lay still.

“Is anyone else tired of this?” Felix demanded.

“Very,” Dimitri grunted.

“When we find your wife,” Felix said, “I am going to demand that she _never_ go anywhere without an escort again. In fact, I may submit a proposal that she never leave the bloody monastery or the palace again, unless she is accompanied by a full honor guard.”

“You are welcome to attempt that,” Dimitri said. He flicked his lance clean of blood and gore. “How shall I write your eulogy? ‘Felix Hugo Fraldarius was a great friend, a bit of an ass, decent with a blade, and he attempted to tell Her Grace, the Archbishop, what she could or could not do. She lit him aflame for the very suggestion.’”

“’Decent’ with a blade? I’ll have you know—On your right, boar. Move!” Felix shoved him aside and cut down another clumsy sword-wielder. This one went down in a gurgle of blood and pain. “Amateurs!” Felix bellowed. “All complete amateurs!” He waved his bloody sword. “Send me a challenge! These pathetic things can’t hold their own against any of us!”

Dryly, Dedue said: “I do not believe Felix and His Majesty require our aid.”

Sylvain shook his head. “No, no, I don’t think they do.”

Their remaining opponents seemed to agree. All four converged on Felix and Dimitri.

Dimitri took two opponents at the same time. The first seemed to have a passing understanding of the lance, but not enough to save them. He swept his lance up underhanded, slashed diagonally up their torso. They opened like a book, white robes turning nearly black from the swift introduction to their insides. The stench was unholy: rotten flesh and blood, decayed food, mold-ridden meat. Dimitri grimaced, backed away from the other attacker, who carried a short, curved sword.

He blocked two thrusts, tried to lock the blade and twist them away. Instead, they spun close to him, drew a hidden knife from their belt and slashed at him. He felt the kiss of the blade against his forearm. He yelped, shoved them away. This one was not like the others.

They slashed at him with both blades, short, brutal attacks meant to wear him down. To his irritation, it was working. _We’ve been running and fighting for hours. We haven’t had any rest. This needs to end, we need to find Byleth, and we need to get out of this damned forest._

His opponent cut him two more times, shallow blows to his forearms. His skin was slick with blood, and it crept onto his hands. He could not afford to lose his grip on his weapon, or he was a dead man.

_Enough of this._

He lunged, and sliced his lance across their sword arm, opening the limb with a deep, bloody wound. They squawked in surprise; they dropped the sword. He seized the opening, caught their knife arm in his left hand. He gripped their wrist, wrenched it to the side, broke the bone with a twitch. They unleashed a shriek of pain, and Dimitri pried the blade from their hand. He buried it in their chest, and watched the white-robed attacker fall. They landed with a heavy _thump_.

Dimitri leaned on his lance, tried to stay on his feet.

_I cannot do that again. I don’t have another battle in me._

_Felix. Where is Felix?_

He struggled to turn his head.

Felix’s opponent, an archer, also seemed more skilled than the rest. They did not fire arrows, but used their bow – tipped with sharpened silver points – to slash at him. He parried, tried to stab, and they managed to trap his blade.

They chattered at him, a gleeful tone, and twisted his arm. He yelped in pain. The pressure abruptly lifted, and, dazed, he did not manage to block the silver point as it tore a furrow through his flesh. He leapt back, nearly dropped his sword, cursing.

The damned thing _cackled_ at him.

Enraged, Felix raised his other hand, and hurled a lightning spell at them.

They were still chattering when the bolt struck them. Flesh and fabric burned in a white heat, and they continued with that mocking, gleeful gibberish. Felix rushed forward to slice his blade across their throat, silencing them as they burned.

He watched the body, smoldering, crashed to the ground.

Exhausted, he lurched away from the corpse.

“Look out!”

Felix barely had time to blink before Sylvain crashed into him. His friend tackled him to the forest floor, and an enormous axe met the ground right where Felix had been standing. He gasped, looked up to face the final robed figure. They were enormous, taller even than Dedue, shrouded in white. Face shadowed beneath a hood, they lumbered forward, taking steady, methodical steps, axe gripped in both hands.

Sylvain rolled over, got his hands under Felix’s arms, and dragged him up. “Get behind me.”

Felix wanted to argue, he really did. There was no way they could fight this opponent, not well, not with how tired he was. His sword arm ached, and even gripping his weapon left his fingers numb. He gripped the back of Sylvain’s shirt, steadied himself. He would not let Sylvain down; he would not let anyone down in this fight. They had come too far today to stop now.

The figure kept up with their slow steps. The axe had been silver, once, but dried blood, mud, and other substances marred the metal.

Sylvain positioned his lance ahead of him, ready to strike if the axe-wielder got any closer.

Dimitri came out of nowhere. He ran and leapt towards their assailant, prepared to launch his lance down into their chest. The axe-wielder shifted their weapon to one hand, and caught Dimitri around the throat with the other. They plucked him out of midair, and started to squeeze.

Suspended above the ground, Dimitri struggled in the iron grip, tried to slash with his lance. He distantly heard Dedue’s voice, a roar of protest, heard Sylvain and Felix screaming. Blood rushed in his ears, and he saw spots.

_Byleth. Beloved. I’m sorry._

**_Will you die here, in this place, without knowing her fate? Of all the things you are – a beast, a killer, a red-stained excuse – you are_ ** **not _a coward. If she is dead, will you allow her voice to haunt you and not see vengeance done?_**

 _No. No. She will_ never _haunt me._ _No, I am_ not _done here._

He dropped his lance, and clawed at the vice-grip.

_I am not dying here, not in this hell. I will find you, beloved, and I will not die here._

We _are not done._

Sylvain and Felix ran towards the enormous axe-wielder. Felix slashed at their middle, and Sylvain tried to skewer them. Dedue came in from behind, silver axe gleaming as he slammed it into the attacker’s back. It did not faze them, and they swept their axe at Dedue, who dodge the blow. He raised his weapon to take their hand off, but the blade rose into the air too quickly for him to react.

Sylvain felt the air whisper around him as the blade landed in the dirt. Felix tumbled away, dazed. Sylvain shouted his name, and dared a look over his shoulder, saw Dimitri still moving, still fighting.

_He doesn’t know when to quit. That’s my king._

“We’re coming, Dimitri! Hang on!”

Despite his confidence, Sylvain could not see an opening. They had to help, they had to stop this. Her Grace would never forgive them if the King died, and… and… wait.

The blade was stuck in the dirt. The axe-wielder struggled to free it. Even with their size and strength, they could not dislodge the heavy axe with one hand. It would require both, which meant… Sylvain leapt to his feet. Lance in hand, he charged at their opponent, and aimed his weapon for the arm currently hell-bent on killing Dimitri.

As Sylvain stabbed his lance at their shoulder joint, Dedue came in on the attacker’s weapon side. He brought his axe down on their arm with enough force to sever their elbow, separating the limb in two. The attacker roared in agony, and instinctively flung Dimitri aside, pressing their hand against the severed limb.

Dimitri landed in a heap on the ground near Felix, who immediately stood over him. He would defend his friend if the others failed. For the first time since he could remember, Felix uttered a silent prayer: _Do not let them fail._ This day had been hell, already, and if his worst fears came to pass, he thought: _Your Grace… Byleth. Byleth, grant them a_ fraction _of your strength._

Strength was one thing Sylvain and Dedue had in common. Sylvain jabbed his lance into the attacker’s abdomen. They doubled over, bellowing. They moved as if to sweep him aside, but they did not release their wound. Leaned forward, they presented a perfect target.

Dedue raised his blade and buried it in the thing’s chest. The axe made a sucking sound as he withdrew it, and bones crunched beneath the second blow. The third blow shattered their sternum, and by the time he landed the fourth blow, they were already dead. They landed heavily, face first on the ground. Dedue marched over, raised his axe in both hands, and brought it down on the dead thing’s neck, severing the head.

Panting, he stepped away from the body. “Dimitri?”

“Over here!” Felix was on his knees, leaning over the King’s body. He shook him. “Dimitri! Wake up!” He rolled his friend over, and shuddered.

Sylvain could not help staring. Dimitri’s throat was a mass of bruising, and a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Sylvain gripped his lance, buried the end in the dirt. He needed something to hold on to. _No. No, no, no, you fought too hard._

Felix patted his friend’s face. “Dimitri. Dimitri!”

Dedue knelt on his other side. He rested a hand on the King’s shoulder. “Dimitri?” He looked at Felix, who hovered his hand in front of Dimitri’s nose. When his shoulders sagged and he sighed, Sylvain moaned, “No. No, please, no.”

Felix whipped his head up and glared. “He’s not dead!”

“Then why did you—”

“He’s _breathing_. That was _relief_ , you idiot!”

“Don’t call me an idiot! He’s still hurt!”

“Enough,” Dedue snapped. “Felix, please. You understand white magic. I do not, and neither does Sylvain. What can you do for him?”

“Hold him,” Felix ordered. “Support his head. Here.”

Dedue cradled Dimitri’s head in his hand, and Felix laid one hand on his chest, the other on his forehead. White magic swirled around his fingers, energy that came from what small amount of faith Felix Hugo Fraldarius had. He did not trust in the Church, nor its teachings; he had faith in his friends, his new family, his brothers in arms. They might argue, bicker over nothing, and sometimes even fight, but he had known two of these men nearly his whole life. The other was counted as a friend and comrade, now, and today had been _hell_.

Dimitri’s eye twitched beneath the closed lid. The bruising on his throat slowly faded, the cuts on his forearms sealed to thin scars. The blood trickling from his mouth ceased, dried to a sticky residue. It was impossible to separate it from the rest of the blood on his face, dried from their previous battle. His lips parted, and he gasped softly. His chest heaved beneath Felix’s hand.

“Come on, boar,” Felix whispered. “Don’t you dare do this to us. Not now. I won’t be the one to tell her you’re dead.”

Dimitri’s eye fluttered, and he whispered, voice strained, “You’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Ass.”

Felix snorted. “He’ll be fine.”

Dedue bowed his head. “ _Please_ do not do that again.”

“No promises,” Dimitri rasped.

“Stop talking,” Felix said.

Sylvain slumped to his knees behind them.

Dedue looked at him. “Are you injured?”

“No,” Sylvain said, voice shaking. “No, I… I’m relieved. It’s just relief.”

Felix shifted his hands to Dimitri’s head. “Hold still, boar. Your throat still needs work.” He raised his head, met Sylvain’s gaze. He gave him a brief nod, and Sylvain smiled faintly.

A few minutes later, Felix released Dimitri. Dedue helped him sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Strangled.”

“Very good. Can you stand?”

Dimitri nodded. Dedue helped him up, rested a hand on his back to steady him. Dimitri turned to Felix. “Thank you.” His voice was a bit stronger.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Which part?”

“Any of it. No more heroics. You’re a king, not a front-line soldier.”

“You sound like Gilbert.”

Felix rolled his eyes.

Sylvain got to his feet, crouched beside Felix. “Are you all right?”

Felix nodded, pressed his left hand against the gash in his right forearm. The injury healed, and a pale scar all that remained. He frowned when Sylvain reached out and touched the scar, his fingertips shaking. “What?”

“I haven’t been that scared in a long time,” Sylvain murmured.

“We’re alive,” Felix said.

Sylvain leaned forward, pressed his forehead into Felix’s shoulder. Felix raised his newly healed arm, rested it on Sylvain’s back. For a moment, he felt the echoing pulse of his friend’s heartbeat, his warmth, and desperately wanted to get out of these damned woods. “When we get back to Garreg Mach,” Felix muttered, “we are going to drink the dining hall dry.”

“Don’t make promises you have no intention of keeping.”

“I didn’t say it would only be us. I fully expect the others to join in. We have _earned_ the good wine.”

Sylvain laughed softly. Felix thought he would be all right. They would all be.

Though today had been hell.

Sylvain helped him up, and they joined Dedue and Dimitri.

“Now, then,” Dimitri said, clearing his throat. “I do believe we have my wife to rescue.”

“If she agrees to duel me,” Felix said, “then I’ll never say a word about an escort.”

Dimitri managed a small smile.

They heard another scream, closer this time. It was very close. It had to be within a few hundred feet of where they were.

Searching, they all scanned the trees for the direction.

“This way,” Dedue said. He frowned. “That is a man screaming.”

“He sounds… what is that?” Sylvain wondered.

Dimitri stared straight ahead. “That is fear,” he said, and left no room for argument.


	12. Chapter 12

She heard shouting. It was close enough that she could hear it over the man in white’s screams. She wondered who was shouting, who was so loud within this place. There was no sound, nothing apart from the screams, the noise, the…

_Why would a person scream?_

_Have I screamed?_ Can _I scream?_

She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.

_I breathe, but I do not speak._

_What am I?_

The man in white was shouting again. He struck his own chest, clawed at it.

How curious. What would make someone do that?

She slowly got to her feet. She looked at the trees, the leaf-strewn ground. She heard the empty void of silence, where it was not occupied by screams.

_I feel nothing. I am nothing._

_What am I?_

She looked at the cloak upon the ground, the blade beneath it.

_I must have that._

She knelt, lifted the cloak, retrieved the blade. She could not feel the grip, but seeing it made it connect in her mind. _This belongs to me. It is mine. I need it._

She looked at the cloak.

_Do I need that?_

She could not think of a reason to take it. It meant nothing. Touching it provoked no feelings; her fingers had no sensation. She took a fistful of it, lifted it.

A scent emerged as she disturbed the cloth: _silver shavings, weapon oil, and horse._

She blinked, and suddenly her face was wrenched in one direction, to face a man with scars on his face, a short beard, and eyes that stared into hers. His voice was familiar – _the man in orange?_ – and he said: _“Wake up and take back what he took from you.”_

She could not speak.

_What did he take?_

_What am I?_

The man’s face shifted, an expression she did not understand. He whispered, _“Kid, I spent my whole life wondering what was taken from you. You had warmth, you had emotions, you felt things, you were_ alive _. You had, and you have, love. You have people who need you.”_

She shivered.

_“Now snap out of it, kid. Take back what he stole.”_

She _shivered_.

_“That’s it. I love you, kid. Now, go get warm.”_

When she blinked again, the man in orange was gone.

The man in white was still there.

_Warmth. I felt things once. I was alive._

_He took what makes me alive. He took my warmth._

_I will take it back._

* * *

The man in white felt more pain, more invisible wounds. Each severed connection with his patrol was one less eye, one less ear. He was blind to the Verzhed Woods, and when the final blow came, he fell to his knees, weeping with pain.

His very chest felt like it had been caved in, and, shuddering, shaking, weeping, he dared a look. His white robes remained pristine, save for the odd leaf and some dirt. There was no gaping wound in his chest, no blood, no bone. He fumbled his hands across his clothing to be certain, but all he felt through the cloth were his own warm hands and a horrific ache in his right arm.

 _Damn them!_ These intruders, slaughtering his patrols, who did they think they were? What gave them the right? What was so important that they would dare to venture this far into the woods, to kill so readily and easily?

What…

_Silent heart. They must be after you._

_Your warmth is mine, but your life is not yet._

_Perhaps they will stop if I take that myself._

He had no blade, but he had magic. Magic could end a life just as easily. It was more efficient, in some ways. Let those fools come to him. They would learn a terrible lesson the moment they arrived, when his hands were wrapped around her delicate, helpless neck and he snapped it.

Perhaps he would burn her alive, a gruesome death to repay their actions against his patrols. He’d felt the one who died while burning. He dreaded looking upon his bare skin, feared he might see sloughed flesh and charred skin.

_That settles it. A pity, silent heart. You would have made a fine ghost of these woods._

_This will be revenge. For all that they took from me, I will take you. It is all they deserve._

He looked over his shoulder at the woman.

She stood where she had previously been on her knees. The cloak lay at her feet, pooled and forgotten. Her blue streaked hair fell in front of her face. Her empty eyes fixed on him.

He stared.

_This is not possible. She is all but gone._

She did not blink.

He raised his hands, magic crackling in his palms.

She took a hesitant, staggered step towards him.

His heart skipped a beat, his breath quickened. The magic in his hands sparked and died. Panicked, he shook his hands, tried to call magic from the earth and air around him.

The chill air wrapped around his robed body, and he cried out at the burning pain of cold. His warm fingers trembled, the heat in his chest squirming. He gritted his teeth against the sensation.

The cold was his. The chill of the air was his. These woods belonged to _him._

She took another step.

She was up, alive, walking.

_There is heat in that silent heart, yet. I will have it._

He smiled, crooked his finger.

_I will have that warmth, silent heart. It does not belong to you any longer. It is mine._

She remained standing. She did not cry out in pain, nor did she react to his spell. He had consumed the very warmth from her body, everything that made her warm and alive, and yet she dared to mock his power?

He tried again.

She blinked, and her horrible, dead eyes looked right through him.

He instinctively backed away from her, a half-scream exiting his throat.

 _What_ is _this? She should be dead, or on her way there. What is happening?_

“I do not understand,” he said aloud. His voice shook. His voice never shook. He was the master of these woods; he did not shake before anything or anyone.

Yet, before her, he trembled.

Her heart was silent, and she now looked the part of a wraith from beyond the veil. Her pale skin seemingly stretched across her bones; her black clothing clung to her. Each step was a half-aware motion, as if instinct and sense were long gone.

His eyes drifted, and he saw her right hand clutched the blade he had so casually knocked aside. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt precisely, and the blade winked in the dim light.

The man in white felt something new, a twisting in his guts. He did not know what he felt, for it was something new, a sickening, nauseating sensation as if his veins were afire. He tasted something strange and foul on his tongue, and his throat tightened. His warm hands shook violently, and he could not concentrate long enough to summon a spell.

He dared to meet her gaze.

She raised her blade, pointed it at him. Her empty eyes locked on his. Her pale lips twitched.

The man in white had never known terror before.


	13. Chapter 13

_He took what makes me alive._

She could not feel the sword in her hand, nor understand what compelled her forward. There was a _need_ to hold the sword, a _need_ to take each step, that was all. It was _necessary_.

_He took what makes me alive._

_I will take it back._

She stared at the man in white. Her hair hung in her eyes, dark blue shadows dancing. No matter, she only needed to see _him_.

_He stole my warmth._

Each step closed the distance. Each step brought him into clearer focus.

His face was nearly hidden by his cloth helmet. His mouth and jaw were visible, his lips twisted, mouth opening and closing. The sounds that emerged were strange squawks, and she wondered if perhaps, like her, he could not speak.

_No. I have heard his voice._

_He can speak._

_He took what makes me alive._

_He stole my warmth._

_I will take it back._

* * *

The man in white watched the woman, this wraith, this ghost in flesh, walking towards him. Her steps were strange, halting, like she had forgotten how to walk. Her feet struck the ground, kicked up decaying leaves with each motion. She clutched her sword in fingers that constantly twitched, like the weapon was not quite familiar.

Her eyes, though, her damned eyes…

Pale green speckled with dark blue, dead and gone, empty of all feeling, all life, and she did not ever blink. She stared intently at him, each step brought her eyes closer, and within moments, she was a mere ten feet away from him. Flailing, he called on the cold, the chill, the wind, anything to drive her back.

_Or kill her. Yes! Yes, the wind. The chill. The cold will kill you, silent heart._

_I brought you to your knees once, and I will do it again._

The magic surged through him, and the breeze flooded through the woods. The wind whipped around her; her hair fluttered free like tendrils dancing around her face. Her trousers flapped in the breeze, and the sword shook in her grip, the tip drifting slowly towards the ground.

 _Yes,_ he thought. _Yes, yes, I will be rid of you._

Any second, she would be wracked with chills, frozen in place. The moment she fell, he would leap upon her, twist that delicate neck, and—

Why was she still standing? _How_ was she still standing?

The wind died.

She stared at him. The look on her face was empty, devoid of conscience or thought. There were no feelings in that face, nor any emotion behind those eyes. This was not a human being, this, this was a, a… what was the word?

_A demon._

He wailed in fear as she took another step towards him.

There was a great crashing in the underbrush, the trees. The leaves crunched underfoot, shattered, and branches snapped. The man in white, panting, whirled, and found four young men emerging from the trees.

The first was incredibly tall and broad with shockingly white hair; he carried a silver axe at his side, the great blade stained with blood. The second was slender, with messy red hair; one of his sleeves was missing, and he carried a silver lance over one shoulder. Beside him, the third was dark-haired, with an intense, bitter gaze; his hand rested on the hilt of a sword hanging low on his hip. All three wore black clothing, with some blue tangled among the fabrics, whether on their vests or belts. All were spattered with blood.

The fourth drew his attention most of all. He was not quite as tall as the first, was blond, with a single blue eye. He had a ring of faded bruises around his throat, and his face was stained with dried blood; a streak trailed from the corner of his mouth. He was the bloodiest of all of them. It stained his trousers, glistened on his boots. The silver lance was not spared; the blade and handle were stained red, and his hands were streaked with the stuff.

The man in white stared.

_The one-eyed beast._

_These are the men who killed my patrols._

He got to his feet.

_“Nngh!”_

He whirled at the sound.

The woman stood there, blade gripped in both hands, pointed at him. She stared at him, dead-eyed, the vengeful ghost he had failed to bind. Panicked, the man in white looked at the four young men. Avenging patrols be damned, he could find more. These were alive, they could help him get out. No matter if the woman was who they were looking for, she was long gone. That was not a living thing; it was a wraith, a ghoul ( _like me)_ , and it was hungry for his blood.

He would have none of it.

He held up his hands to the four young men. “Please, help me,” he began. “Please, this, this _thing_ it, it is hunting me, and—”

The one-eyed man stepped forward, fearlessly walked towards the woman. He held up his red-streaked hands, reached out to her.

The man in white leapt at him, gripped his arm. “Are you mad?” he hissed. “That thing will kill you!”

The one-eyed man wrenched his arm away. He moved to the woman, stayed beyond her sword. “Beloved?” he asked.

The man in white stared as the woman pivoted, twisted to point the sword at the one-eyed man now.

“Beloved.” The one-eyed man’s voice was soft, a contrast to his bloody faced. “It’s me. Don’t you know me?”

Her empty eyes were fixed on him, now.

 _A distraction_.

The man in white held his hands at his sides. Magic surged and crackled around his fingers, and he prepared—

A blade rested against the side of his neck. It was sharp enough to just bite into his flesh. He gasped. At the opposite end of the blade, a voice spoke an even, confident threat: “Lower your hands, you bastard, or I will cut them off.”

* * *

She stared at the one-eyed man at the end of her blade.

She knew his face, but his face meant nothing. She blinked, and he was still there. His raised hands were stained red –

A memory surged inside of her mind: _“Blood-stained as I am, am I fit to be their king?”_

She blinked, and she wished she might speak. She knew this man’s face, knew his single blue eye, and yet there was nothing there, no feeling, no emotion, nothing. She was an empty void.

“Beloved?”

The one-eyed man spoke to her. He said that word again. What was that, what did it mean? Why did it matter?

_He took what makes me alive._

_He stole my warmth._

_I will take it back._

She turned, fixed her eyes on the man in white. He stood with his hands raised, a blade at his neck. Behind him was a dark-haired man, whose gaze rested on her, though his expression was a blank as she was.

She pointed the blade at the man in white.

He moaned, trembled, and said, “Please! Please, this thing will kill me. Please!”

The blade at his neck twitched, and a thin line of red appeared on the white fabric across his throat.

Behind him, the dark-haired man said, “Speak again. I have had enough of these damned woods and their occupants for two lifetimes. Do not test my patience.”

The one-eyed man said, “Felix. Don’t kill him.”

“Yet,” the dark-haired man said. “I won’t kill him yet.”

 _Do not kill him,_ she wanted to tell them. _Do not kill him until I have taken back what he stole from me._

“Beloved,” the one-eyed man said. “Do you know me?”

 _Yes,_ she wanted to tell him. _Yes, I know you but I do not_ feel _anything._

The red-haired man in the trees stepped forward. “Is she all right?”

“I don’t know,” the one-eyed man said.

A white-haired man stepped beside the one-eyed man. “Your Grace? Do you know us?”

_I know your faces. I do not know what I am to you._

She inhaled, forced her gaze on the man in white.

She pointed her blade, motioned with it.

The one-eyed man said, “Did he have something to do with what happened today?”

Slowly, she opened her mouth. She wanted to speak, to tell them what had happened, but she did not know how much strength she had left, nor how many words she could spare. She wanted to repeat _the_ words, to take what belonged to her. She _desired_ that.

She took a deep breath.

“He.”

Breath.

“Took.”

Breath.

“What.”

Breath.

“Makes.”

Breath.

“Me.”

Breath.

“Alive.”

Her voice was slow, hoarse, the scrape of a blade on bone. How she knew that sound, she did not know, but it suited her voice in the moment. She took another breath, slowly looked at the one-eyed man. His mouth was drawn into a tense line, and his single blue eye was focused on her. Whatever he felt, she could not name, did not understand, and desperately _wanted_ to understand, to know.

“He.”

Breath.

“Stole my.”

Breath.

“Warmth.”

The one-eyed man stared at her hands. “May I touch you?” he asked.

She did not have a reason to refuse him. The man in white was not going anywhere.

She released her two-handed grip on the sword, gave him one of her hands. She could not feel his bare fingers against hers. His hand closed over hers, and his fingers opened almost immediately. “You are freezing,” he said quietly. “Beloved. Your eyes. Your hair. What… what happened to you?”

His hand moved higher, and saw his fingers from the corner of her eye. Was he touching her cheek? She saw a trembling movement in his face. He said, “You are so cold.” Softly, he whispered, “You won’t even smile for me?”

 _I cannot smile,_ she thought. _I do not know what that is. I cannot feel._

She turned her gaze, met the one-eyed man’s.

“I cannot feel,” she managed, though it took great effort. “I… I feel… I feel nothing.”

She looked back at the man in white. Her breath caught, and she forced the words free: “He stole my warmth.”

The one-eyed man turned to the white-haired man. “Bring him.”

The man nodded, and stepped away.

The one-eyed man looked at her. “I am here, beloved. We will make this right.”

 _How can it be right,_ she wondered, _when I do not know what I am? What if it is wrong to feel and this is right? What am I to you that you want me to feel?_

* * *

Felix gripped the back of the man in white’s robes, and offered him over to Dedue. Dedue was considerably less gentle than even Felix had been, and Felix had drawn blood. The man in white whined and whimpered, pleaded that the ‘silent hearted thing’ would kill him. Dedue thought this was preposterous, and also had little enough patience remaining.

He dragged the man in white over to Dimitri and Byleth. Byleth, who did not seem to know who they were, or, if she did, she was having difficult speaking and comprehending what was happening. Dedue had had enough worry today, between Dimitri’s earlier fit and then his damned heroics, not to mention his concerns for Felix and Sylvain, during their brief group separation. Whatever was happening to Her Grace, it needed to be resolved soon. The day would not last forever, but another night in these woods might prove fatal, if not simply lead to madness.

When a chill wind seemed to rise around him, Dedue tightened his grip on the man in white and forced him to his knees. “You will answer His Majesty’s questions,” Dedue said calmly. “If you do not, I will allow Master Fraldarius to flay you alive. Are we quite clear?”

The man in white whimpered like a child.

“Pathetic,” Felix said, joining them.

Sylvain stood beside him. “What did he do to Her Grace? Did he hurt her?”

“I never!” the man wailed. “I… this, this thing, it’s, it’s been hunting me about the woods. I, I did not do anything to, to whoever you are talking about.” Tears stained what was visible of his face. His white cloth helmet was in the way, and Dedue pried it free.

The man shrieked, though none of them could determine why.

He was perfectly normal looking. His hair was a bit thin and brittle-looking, and his eyes were a curious shade of grey, so pale they were nearly white. His face was full and healthy, where it was not sticky and stained with tears, and the visible skin on his hands looked healthy, too, despite their trembling. His lips peeled back as he wailed, revealing white, even teeth.

“Who are you?” Dimitri demanded.

“I, I am no one, Y-Your Majesty.”

“You live in these woods?” 

“These, these are my woods.”

Another burst of cold slithered around them. Dedue adjusted his grip, twisted his hand into the back collar of the man’s robes. He whimpered, and the wind ceased. “Are you responsible for the cold in this place?”

The man babbled some response, and Dedue shook him. “Answer the question.”

“These are my woods,” the man repeated, his voice thick with tears.

Dimitri’s eye narrowed, and, sarcastically, he said, “Are they? I was under the impression that the land belonged to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Perhaps I forgot your deed to this land, Lord…?”

“I am no lord.”

“No? Then how do you claim this place? This damned forest shouldn’t belong to anyone. I’ve half a mind to set it on fire as soon as we leave.”

“No!” the man in white cried. “No! No, you cannot burn this place. If you burn it, then, then… then where will I go?”

“A gallows,” Felix said grimly.

The man in white gasped, looked at him. “How can you say that? I’ve harmed no one!”

Byleth spoke, her voice a flat, monotonous tone that sent a shiver up Dedue’s spine: “He stole my warmth.”

“I stole nothing!”

“He took what makes me alive.”

“Why does she keep saying that?” Sylvain wondered. He stepped beside her. “Hey, Your Grace. What do you mean?”

“She has a weapon,” Felix pointed out.

“She wouldn’t hurt me. She’d never hurt her favorite student.” He smiled. “Besides, Dimitri’s got her. She’s in good hands.”

Dimitri tightened his grip on Byleth’s right hand. She did not react, instead, she looked at Sylvain.

“Hey,” Sylvain said. “It’s me. It’s Sylvain.”

She blinked.

“What happened to your hair, Your Grace? I liked the old color better.”

Under other circumstances, her blank expression would be comical. Dedue found it unnerving. It was like staring into the past version of Byleth, the one he had met so long ago, the young mercenary who never smiled, who did not laugh, who reminded him so much of the man he had once been, grim, driven, with no thought to personal wants or whims.

 _She is a stranger,_ he thought. _This is our friend, and she is a stranger._

Her pale green hair was streaked with dark blue, and her eyes were pale green speckled with dark blue, strange, focused and yet not. _She_ was familiar and yet not. Dedue repressed a shiver. The air was pleasantly cool, the expected, comforting fall chill.

“She is cold,” Dimitri said, drawing his attention.

The man in white looked away.

“Look at me,” Dimitri snapped. “Do you know who I am? Who these men are? Who she is? Do you have any idea who we are and what you have done?”

“I have done nothing!” the man wailed. “I am but a hermit, and—”

Dimitri released Byleth’s hand, gripped the front of the man’s robes, yanked him to his feet. “You are _trying_ my patience,” he growled, fixing his gaze on the man’s face. “What have you done to my wife?”

The man in white stared, and his pathetic whimpering ceased. All pretense gone, his lips curled back, and he snarled: _“You_ slaughtered my patrols. You, most of all. You beast! What did they do to you? They protected this place.”

“Protected? They tried to kill us!”

“Because you invaded! You had no right. These are _my_ woods.”

“So, who were your patrols?”

“I hardly remember,” the man in white said dismissively. “Much as I’ll hardly remember her.”

Dimitri shook him. “You will undo what you’ve done.”

“There _is_ no undoing—”

“Do not tell me that.”

“Or what, Your Majesty?” The man in white pouted, his eyes large. “Will you kill me to avenge your lady love? How _sweet.”_

“Undo it!”

“Why? So, she can kill me? I think not.”

“Perhaps I’ll kill you instead.”

The man’s eyes grew wide. “Now, Your Majesty, let’s not be hasty. Perhaps there is something else—"

“Shut up.” Disgusted, Dimitri shoved the man into Dedue’s waiting grip.

“Based on the arrows we found,” Sylvain said, “I’d bet his patrols were the ones who shot Hayden and tried to shoot me.”

The man in white shook his head. “He was in the way.”

“He was her guard. He protected her.”

“Hence why he was in the way. I wanted _her_.”

“Why?” Dimitri demanded. “She is the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and the Queen of Faerghus. What could you _possibly_ want with her?”

“She was _warm_ ,” the man snapped. “A silent heart and a warm soul? I’ve never heard of such magic! The moment I saw her, I wanted to touch her. I wanted to consume that warmth and magic, and I wanted it. I have never wanted _anything_ so badly as that magic.”

The man in white shook his head. “You have no idea how long I have lingered in these woods, when I felt nothing, when I knew nothing but my own needs. I needed patrols, so I made them. Until two years ago, there were always more travelers to take, to make myself warm for a time, but then they stopped. I needed patrols, but I never desired anything from them. I never wanted, I never _felt_ anything. I could not feel a damned thing, and then, when I touched her, and I took her warmth, I felt _everything_.” He smiled, a broad, deranged grin. “What a treat. A delight. A frolic. A _joy_.”

Byleth wobbled on her feet. Her eyes rolled back, and Sylvain caught her as she fell back. “Hey! Hey, Your Grace?” He yelped when his hand brushed her neck. “Dimitri, something’s really wrong with her.”

Felix joined him, rested his hand on her forehead. “She’s freezing.” He concentrated, and white magic pooled around his fingers. He hissed, withdrew his hand.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Something’s _very_ wrong. Dimitri, I can’t heal her.” Felix looked at the man in white. “That bastard’s done something.”

The man in white shrugged. “It’s one woman. Hardly a loss.”

Sylvain started: “You son of a bitch, she’s our—”

Dedue twisted his hand in the man’s collar. He choked. “Do not speak again unless you are spoken to,” Dedue suggested.

The man in white gagged.

Dimitri desperately wanted to go to her, but he looked the man in white in the eye. “She said you took her warmth.”

“So, I did.”

“You took what makes her alive.”

“I took that, too.”

Dimitri lifted his lance, aimed the blade at the man’s throat. “Give back what you stole.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will draw this out.”

“Oh, yes, I already saw how you kill,” the man in white grumbled. “Poor patrols. You killed them for doing their jobs, for fulfilling their purposes. How very _kingly_ of you.” He flinched as the blade pressed gently into his flesh.

“Give back what you stole,” Dimitri repeated.

“She’s as good as dead.” He nodded to Byleth’s body. “There you are, Your Majesty. An empty shell. Have _fun_.”

Dimitri pulled the blade back.

The man in white smiled. “See? I knew you would—”

Dimitri crouched and gripped his face in his hand. “You said you wanted to touch her.”

“I did. I wanted to, and I did it.”

Dimitri hummed softly. “I wonder, if I did this—” He wrapped his hand around the man’s throat, and dragged him over to Byleth’s body. “—and gave your hand to her—” He took one of Byleth’s hand, pressed it into the man in white’s. “—what do you suppose might happen?”

The man in white began to scream.

It was an ear-splitting wail, terror, fear, pain, utter despair.

Sylvain and Felix held tightly to Byleth, while Dimitri kept his grip on the man in white’s throat. Dedue gripped Dimitri’s shoulder, steadied him.

The man in white screamed and screamed.

As he did so, Dimitri recognized the sound, and knew, finally, that the woman’s scream he and Dedue had heard hours before had been Byleth’s. She had suffered whatever this monster was enduring now. Whatever had deadened her eyes, her skin, transformed her beautiful hair to that old, long ago memory, he hoped that this might undo it.

_He took from you. It is only fair that you take it back._

_If this does not work, beloved, I will kill him, myself._

* * *

A memory?

_The man in orange is on the balcony. He’s got the biggest smile of his life on his face, and he says, “Don’t you look beautiful?”_

_She smiles, gives him a little curtsy._

_“I never imagined this day would come.”_

_He holds out his hand, takes hers. She is wearing a beautiful dark blue dress, a black scarf dappled with sapphires, and a silver crown tucked into her pale green hair. The man in orange brings her hand to his lips, kisses it affectionately. “I’m so proud of you,” he says. “So proud of who you became.” He looks towards the crowded palace ballroom beyond the doors. “Even if you are marrying that man. I tell you what, kid, if I’d been there during the war, I would’ve kicked his ass for all that nonsense he pulled.”_

_“He’s a good man.”_

_“He turned into one. Oh, well, I’m not the one marrying him.”_

_“Damn right you’re not,” she teases._

_“Hey, language. You’re royalty and clergy now. You have standards to uphold.” His eyes sparkle. “In all seriousness, he is a good man. He’ll move heaven and hell for you, I hope you know that.”_

_“I’d do the same for him.”_

_“And that, kid, is just a fragment of what love is.” The man in orange slips his finger beneath her chin, tilts her head up. “I loved you so much, kid. You were everything to me. You were my entire world. I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the ceremony.”_

_“I’m so glad you made it, now,” she tells him._

_“Go live your life, kid. Make it a good one.”_

_“Will I see you again?”_

_“Kid, you will always see me. When you look in a mirror, or when you need a guiding hand, you know where to find me. When you dream, you’ll always find me.”_

_She sniffs. “I miss you.”_

_“I miss you, kid. I missed your mother, too. One day, we’ll all be together. For now, go live your life.”_

_“And make it a good one?”_

_“Make it a good one.”_

_“I love you, Father.”_

_“I love you, kid. Now, wake up.”_

_She frowns, looks around. The party music and chatter is gone. She looks at her hands, now covered in riding gloves, leaving her fingers free. Her wedding dress is gone; she is wearing riding clothes. She exhales, and a plume of breath exits her mouth._

_Momentarily, she panics. “Father, I, I can’t do this again. I can’t go back to that void.”_

_“You won’t, kid.”_

_She feels his hands on her shoulders. With a gentle squeeze, he says, “Wake up, kid. You’ve had a hell of a day.”_


	14. Chapter 14

The man in white stopped screaming after a few minutes, only able to manage bawling sobs of indignity. Dimitri did not have it in him to care. He kept the man’s hand where it was, in Byleth’s, and watched as her face slowly took on some of the familiar rosy color. The blue in her hair was slowly fading, replaced by the pale green that had transformed her so many years ago.

He wanted, most of all, to see her eyes. Then, he wanted to see her smile.

They knew it was over when her hair was completely pale green, and Felix hovered his hand near her nose, confirmed he felt her breath. She moaned softly, and settled comfortably against Sylvain’s arm. He looked helplessly at Dimitri, as if to say _this is not my fault, you cannot kill me later for this_.

Dimitri didn’t truly care.

_I am here now, beloved. Your friends are here. We are going to take you out of this place._

The man in white had gone silent. His eyes were far away, his skin pale, his brittle hair more withered than before. Dimitri felt the cold, clammy flesh of the man’s hand beneath his, and still touching Byleth’s. He looked at Dedue. “Get him away from her.”

Dedue obliged; he grabbed the man’s collar and dragged him several feet away. He dropped him in an unceremonious heap. “Your Majesty, what do you want me to do with him?”

Felix said, “Execute him. He’s attacked us all, and he tried to kill Her Grace. He deserves death.”

**_Give the order. Tell them to kill that man. They will do whatever you ask of them._ **

**_Better yet, take your lance and do it yourself. Tear his throat out with your teeth._ **

Dimitri closed his eye, took a deep, calming breath.

“Leave him,” he said. “These are his woods, aren’t they? Leave him to rot.”

Felix snorted. “A fitting end, I suppose. He’d have done the same to us.”

Dimitri knelt beside Sylvain. “Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.” Sylvain gently eased his arm out from under Byleth, and carefully made sure she was safe in Dimitri’s grasp. Despite his exhaustion, Dimitri wanted to carry her out of the woods himself. Eburos was waiting outside the tree line. He just had to get that far.

 _Then we will go back to Garreg Mach, and we will_ rest _._

Dedue stood beside him. “Your Majesty, let me know if you require assistance.”

“I don’t, but thank you.” Dimitri smiled. “She’s safe,” he said quietly. “That’s all that matters right now.”

“What matters right now is that we get out of here.” Dedue looked through the trees. “I do hope we can find the horses.”

“They’re smart,” Sylvain said confidently. “I’ll bet you anything that they’re roaming the woods right outside this thicker part.”

“You seem very sure.”

“All right, so Felix marked the trees on our way to you two earlier. We didn’t run that far, and, awful as it is, if we follow the smell, I’ll bet we can find the trees, and then we find the horses.”

Dedue thought for a moment and nodded. “A reasonable plan. Well done, Sylvain.”

“I have my moments.” Sylvain smiled. “Besides, I need to carry His Majesty’s lance.”

“Just hook it over my shoulder,” Dimitri said.

Sylvain shrugged. “All right. Dedue? You’re taller.”

Dedue took the lance, adjusted the strap and looped it over Dimitri’s head. Once it was settled against his shoulder, he adjusted his grip on Byleth. Her head rested against his chest, and he felt her soft breath against his shirt. If his face hadn’t been covered in blood, he might have dipped his face to kiss her. “Let’s go,” he said.

“Oh, wait.” Sylvain turned, rushed back into the clearing. He retrieved something from the ground, brought a heap of fabric back, along with the dropped blade. “I think these are hers.”

Dimitri looked at the fabric, figured out it was a cloak. “It must be. Here, tuck it in around her. She feels warmer, but let’s keep her that way.” He nodded his chin towards the sword. “Hold on to that.”

Sylvain gave the cloak to Dedue, who gently tucked it around Byleth. He tucked the sword in his belt, and they turned to go.

Breath plumed in front of their faces. The chill spread across their bodies.

Dimitri hugged Byleth tightly. He heard her whimper softly. The fabric rustled around her, the softness little comfort when clashing with the dread rising up inside him.

_Not again._

As quickly as the temperature had plummeted, it ceased. The cool air resumed its normal fall atmosphere. Behind them, they heard a grunt, the crackle of magic, and the _thunk_ of a body striking the ground.

Dimitri turned.

The man in white lay in a smoldering heap, his clothes torn and burned, sparks of lightning magic pulsing above the fatal injury. He gasped once, twice, and was still.

Behind him stood Felix, lowering his hand, still sheathed in a burst of magic. “You,” Felix said to the dead man, “have done quite enough.” Without wasting a moment, he drew his sword, and drove it into the man’s heart. He stepped back from the pulse of blood, and joined them.

Sylvain shifted his feet. “Dimitri told you to leave him. You killed him anyway. Why?”

“He would never stop.” Felix looked at the man. “I don’t know who he was, I don’t care to know. You were right, though, Dimitri. Let’s leave him. May he be forgotten and rot in this place. He seemed to think it was his, and he certainly killed plenty of people within it. It isn’t his; it never was. Go haunt a forest in hell, you bastard. You’ve done enough.”

Sylvain reached out, took his friend’s hand. “Let’s find the horses and get the hell out of here.”

Dimitri cradled Byleth closer to his chest. Her eyes remained closed, and he breathed her in. _Earth tea, almonds, and the stench of this damn forest. I stink of it, too, and death and blood._

_Let’s get back to Garreg Mach, to healing, and safety. I won’t rest until you are safe._

_How I wish you would open your eyes and smile at me._

He saw his friends looking expectantly at him. He nodded, and started to walk. They stood on either side of him, a comforting presence as they made their final trek through the Verzhed Woods.

* * *

The stench of death and the marks in the trees both proved useful. They found Fern, Hazel, and Nero not too far from where they’d been left. Hazel snorted in protest at the smell of death and blood coming off of Felix. He petted the horse’s nose, which only somewhat eased her distress. He climbed into her saddle; told them he’d meet them at the tree line. If he was lucky, he might spot the wyvern rider from earlier and direct him back to Garreg Mach with the news.

Dedue mounted Fern. Dimitri carefully handed Byleth to him, and the man from Duscur held her as gently as he did the flowers in the Fhirdiad garden. He rode ahead, intent on meeting them in the field.

Dimitri rode with Sylvain and Nero out of the woods.

As they rode, Sylvain noticed something odd. He looked around, listened, and said, “Hey, Dimitri, you hear that?”

Dimitri grimaced. “I hate when you ask that question.”

“I know, but just listen.”

Dimitri humored him.

To his surprise, he heard an owl hooting. Some rustling in the nearby brush produced a rather plump porcupine that waddled its way towards a tree and began to climb. He looked from side to side, saw a variety of animals flitting amidst the thick trees.

“I don’t remember hearing any animals before,” Dimitri said, stunned.

“Now isn’t that something?” Sylvain marveled. “Maybe something good came out of today, after all.”

“Maybe,” Dimitri said. “Maybe.”

* * *

They reached the field just as the first rays of sunset were washing the sky in red and orange. Felix waited with Hazel and Eburos. “The wyvern rider hasn’t shown up,” he called. “I’d wager we’ll beat him back to the monastery.”

“You don’t want to wait?” Sylvain asked.

“No way in hell do I want to be near here after dark. You had a good idea earlier, Dimitri. We should burn the whole bloody thing.”

“No,” Dimitri said, clapping Sylvain on the shoulder as he dismounted. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Anytime.”

“Changed your mind, boar?” Felix asked.

Dimitri straightened his vest, scrubbed a stained hand through his hair. “No, I simply don’t feel the need to rob helpless animals of their home, especially since they have it back now.”

Felix frowned, perplexed.

“I’ll explain on our way back,” Sylvain promised.

Felix shrugged, and handed Eburos’s reins over to Dimitri. Dimitri greeted the horse, climbed into the saddle. Dedue rode up beside him, and Dimitri took his beloved in his arms. “I’ll meet you at Garreg Mach,” he promised his friends. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“We’re right behind you,” Dedue assured him.

Dimitri nodded, flicked the reins, cradled his unconscious wife against his chest, and said, “Hurry, Eburos.”

The horse, alert and well-rested, knew the way to Garreg Mach without guidance. It wasn’t long before Dimitri settled into horse’s rhythm and the gentle jostling of the saddle. Eburos took an easy, consistent pace through the field, and after that, Dimitri simply trusted the horse to get them back safely.

The monastery was not his home, not now, and never again. He hadn’t even really considered it a home back when he’d been a student; it was simply a place to hone his skills, to become stronger, to hunt down his enemies. Garreg Mach was a beginning and end for him, in so many things.

It began his training in earnest, his need for control, for strength above all things. It began his strange, shy friendship with an even stranger woman, barely older than himself, with dark blue hair and cold eyes, who never smiled. Then she did smile, and he felt it was only for him; he would have given anything to see her smile again.

Garreg Mach had ended any pretense he had of his own innocence. He had killed on its grounds, crushed the skull of an imperial soldier with his own hand. He had seen his childhood friend, who had long forgotten him, become the stuff his nightmares were made of. Edelgard’s betrayal had been the end of so much, the end of countries, families, the end of thousands of lives, and he had contributed, hadn’t he? The monastery was as responsible for turning him into a monster as much anything else.

 _Then you came back,_ he thought, looking at Byleth’s face. _And I suppose it was ultimately my salvation, because you were there._

Her head lay nestled against his chest, her face relaxed. She might have been sleeping, except for the ever-fading marks on her throat, and the handful of scrapes he could see on her fingers. He would have to remind Sylvain to make sure that sword made it back to her. He adjust his grip on her, raised the cloak around her chin. “Rest, beloved,” he murmured. “Just rest.”

He wrapped the reins around his right hand, rested his left above her waist. His head bowed forward in time with the horse’s steps. He must have closed his eye, half drifted off at some point, because he came to when he heard a soft moan.

He blinked, startled. Eburos was still trotting along the road. The sunset blazed to the west, and Dimitri was almost grateful it couldn’t blind his right side. Still, he was more focused on Byleth. Her lips parted, and she murmured something so faint he could not understand it.

“Beloved?”

Another murmur.

“Just open your eyes,” he pleaded. “Smile at me. Tell me you’re all right. Anything. Please.”

Perhaps another minute passed in silence. He raised his left hand, stroked her cheek.

“Byleth. _Please._ ”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes. She looked at him, her irises completely pale green. Her mouth moved, and he heard, oh so softly: “Dimitri?”

He felt tears streaking through the blood on his face. “Hello, beloved.”

She blinked, and settled against him with a content, comfortable sigh. She closed her eyes again, a smile curved across her lips. He felt her breath against his shirt. Asleep or unconscious again, it truly did not matter. He had to get her to Garreg Mach.

He tightened his grip on the reins. “Eburos, go.”

The horse picked his pace, and they rode into the village at the base of the monastery.


	15. Chapter 15

The sun had not quite set when he reached the hill leading to Garreg Mach. He urged Eburos to go a bit faster, and as they rode through the gates, he heard the watch guard high above: “Rider! Rider approaching!”

A second guard called: “It’s King Dimitri! Someone get Seteth!”

A third sentry blew a trumpet into the air, and Dimitri heard that strangely familiar emergency bell.

He rode into the courtyard, cradling Byleth against his chest. She hadn’t woken again, and her smile faded as she sank deeper into unconsciousness. “We’re here, beloved,” he whispered. “We’re here. We are almost safe.”

Seteth and Manuela were stumbling out of the main keep doors as he arrived, Mercedes in tow behind them. “By all that’s holy,” Seteth breathed when he saw Dimitri. The King’s face was stained with dried blood, his hair sticky with it; his clothes and hands fared little better. “What have you done to yourself?”

Dimitri snapped, “Never mind me, take her.”

Seteth blanched at the sight of the unconscious Archbishop’s body. “Alois!” he called. He looked to a nearby knight. “We need him. Go find Alois. Where is that man?”

The knight hurried away. Dimitri nearly screamed at him to move faster. He barely managed to hold his tongue.

Alois raced around the corner seconds later. “I heard the bells,” he said. “What is—oh, oh, no. Byleth?” His jovial face paled, and he looked on the verge of tears.

“Take her, Alois,” Dimitri pleaded. “Just, just take her.”

Alois snapped out of it, nodded. “Easy there,” he soothed, taking Byleth gently in his arms. “Here you are, Your Grace. We were worried about you.” He looked at Dimitri once he had the Archbishop. “You look like hell.”

“I feel worse.”

Alois’s smile was equal parts amused and concerned. “Well, maybe wash your face. You’ll give her a bloody fright when she sees you.”

Dimitri choked a laugh.

Alois looked far too pleased with himself. “Did you hear that, Your Grace? He laughed at my joke.”

“Enough of your jokes; take her to the infirmary,” Seteth said, exasperated. Alois walked as fast as he could into the keep, all business now, and bellowed for someone to find Gilbert, tell him the news, the old man was around here someplace, so somebody _find him_.

“Where are the others?” Seteth asked, turning his attention back to Dimitri.

“Right behind me,” Dimitri said.

“What in the world happened, Dimitri?”

“Later,” Dimitri insisted. His hands tightened on the reins. “I, I need to take Eburos to the stables, and—”

“You are an absolute wreck,” Manuela snapped. “Get down from that horse this instant, young man. You need to be in the infirmary, too.”

He started to disagree, but there was no arguing with Manuela. “Gabriel is perfectly capable of securing the horse. Gabriel!” She practically sang the stable boy’s name.

Mere moments later, he scurried around the same corner as Alois. Dimitri dismounted, and found, to his embarrassment, that he could barely stay on his feet. He gripped Eburos’s saddle for balance, even as Mercedes waited behind him.

“Your Majesty?”

Dimitri froze at the stable boy’s voice. He sounded timid, afraid. _Well, Alois said I looked like hell,_ Dimitri thought. He turned his head, gave the boy a weary smile. “Hello, Gabriel. Would you mind taking Eburos for me, please?”

“Is Her Grace with you?” The boy’s voice trembled.

“I brought her back,” Dimitri assured him.

Gabriel took Eburos’s reins. “Come on, Eburos,” he said, and Dimitri heard the boy sniffle as he led the horse away. “Come on. I’m really glad to see you, boy.” The boy looked at Dimitri. “I’m glad to see you, too, Your Majesty. I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Oh, you’re hardly that,” Mercedes scolded gently, and caught Dimitri’s arm. “Seteth, go on ahead. We’ll be right behind you.” The older man nodded, and walked into the keep.

“The infirmary?” Dimitri managed.

“The infirmary,” Mercedes agreed. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll run, if you want me to.”

“Please don’t. I think you’ll fall over.” Mercedes pulled his arm over her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you up there.”

“Wait,” he said, “the others, they—”

A guard said, “Your Majesty, I’ll direct them to the infirmary. Go see to Her Grace.”

Dimitri nodded, and gratefully leaned on Mercedes as they made their way into the keep.

* * *

Manuela had already shooed Alois out of the infirmary by the time Mercedes and Dimitri arrived. “She’s in good hands,” Alois assured Dimitri. “Seteth is in there with her.”

“Thank you, Alois” he said. “Dedue, Felix, and Sylvain were right behind me. Would you please go watch for them? Bring them here as soon as they arrive. They’ll want to know she’s all right.”

“Absolutely.” Alois clapped him on the shoulder, and lowered his voice, “Shall I bring clothing changes for any of you? Or do you want to take turns heading for the bathhouse? Manuela might be a while.”

Dimitri shook his head. “I am fine.”

“You are really not,” Mercedes said, and eased the infirmary door open. “Sorry, Alois. I need to take care of His Majesty before anything else happens.”

“Right. I’ll go watch for the others.” Alois strolled down the hall, leaving a clanking echo in his wake.

Dimitri looked at Mercedes. “Byleth—”

“Is in the best hands,” Mercedes said. “Now come on. My hands aren’t too bad, you know.” She opened the infirmary door, guided him to a cot next to Byleth. She helped him sit so he could face his wife.

Seteth stood against the opposite wall, arms folded, watching as Manuela worked.

She at least appeared relaxed. Manuela rested a hand on her chest and forehead, white magic pulsing in soothing waves around her fingers. Byleth’s skin took on a pearlescent sheen, and she sighed softly, turned her head. She looked better already, though he just wanted to see her awake.

Manuela finished, and examined her patient’s face and neck. She tipped Byleth’s chin up, and gasped at the faded finger marks on her throat. “What in the world—”

“There was a man in the Verzhed Woods,” Dimitri said. “He took her warmth.”

“That makes no sense. What does that mean?”

“It was some king of magic. I don’t know.”

Seteth frowned. “A magic that takes warmth? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“When we found her,” Dimitri said, voice shaking, “I don’t think she knew us. She couldn’t talk, she didn’t blink, she was freezing.”

“What else?”

 _Her hair and eyes. They were like they used to be…_ He wasn’t sure they were ready for that. He had barely comprehended it. Instead, he said, “She said he stole her warmth.”

“He took her _physical_ warmth?” Seteth made a face. “That is… this is absurd. There is no magic that does that.”

“I’m telling you what happened. She was so cold. There was nothing behind her eyes. She wasn’t there.” Dimitri shivered. “She just, she wasn’t there.”

**_She once said she knew what it was like to be alone in this world with your body and not your soul. Was it like that for you?_ **

Dimitri squeezed his eye shut, blocked the voice out. When it did not reemerge, he slowly opened his eye.

Seteth’s voice was grim. “Dimitri?”

“Yes?”

“What happened to the man in the woods?”

“He’s dead.”

“Good,” Manuela said tartly. “Look at her poor throat. He choked her.”

Dimitri tensed.

Mercedes stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders. Through the loose strands of his hair, she could see the bruising around his throat. “Someone did the same to you?”

Manuela jerked her head up. “Just what the hell is going on in that forest? First Hayden gets hurt, now all of this. When your friends get back, how much work do we have cut out for us?”

“We’re fine, Manuela,” Sylvain said, opening the door. “Thanks for worrying.”

She scowled at him, but her expression turned to shock at their appearances. They were blood-splattered and exhausted. Dedue and Felix both wore stoic expressions; the corner of Sylvain’s mouth twitched, like he was on the verge of screaming.

Seteth stepped away from the wall. “Gentlemen,” he said. “You all look like you’ve had better days.”

“We have,” Dedue said. “I am glad to see that Their Majesties are safe.”

Dimitri met his gaze, nodded. Dedue’s expression never changed, but his eyes glistened. He was not a man who wept or showed emotion easily. Dimitri managed a weak smile for his friend’s benefit, which seemed to satisfy.

“Hold still,” Mercedes said, interrupting his thoughts. Her hands glowed with white magic, and Dimitri could not repress the violent shiver that went through him as the healing warmth permeated his body. “Relax,” she soothed.

Every ache and pain faded almost instantly, and he slumped forward. The room spun. She kept one hand on his shoulder. “Don’t do that,” she scolded him gently. “Stay upright. Can you do that?”

He nodded.

“Good. Let me see your throat.”

Wincing, he tilted his head back. He felt her fingers probing at the bruises. “Felix? Did you try to heal him?”

“I’m less concerned with erasing scars and more interested in making sure my friends survive,” Felix said, voice verging on irritation.

“That’s what I thought.” Mercedes shook her head, and eased in front of him, briefly blocking his view. “Here, Dimitri. You’ll feel better in a moment.” She supported the back of his head with one hand, gently rested her other between his collarbones. Healing magic pulsed up through his skin and muscle, and the bruising and latent tenderness receded. When she finished, she stepped back, smiling. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” he admitted, raising a hand to massage his throat. “Please, see to the others.”

She squeezed his shoulder, and joined them. “All right, what do we have here? Sylvain! What happened to your shoulder?”

“Long story, Mercedes. I told Felix that women like scars. How’s it look?”

“Well, if Felix healed this, he did a better job on you than on Dimitri.”

“He just likes me better.”

“Incorrigible,” Felix grumbled.

Dedue joined Dimitri.

“Are you hurt?” Dimitri asked. “Manuela? Can you help him?”

Dedue shook his head. “That is not necessary. I am all right, Dimitri. You and Sylvain have been through the worst of it today. I am tired, but otherwise well.”

Dimitri’s shoulders slumped. “Good. That’s good.”

“How is Her Grace?”

“She’ll be better when you loud buffoons get out of my infirmary,” Manuela huffed. She brushed Byleth’s bangs out of her closed eyes. “Dedue, be a dear, and drag that fool to the bathhouse.”

Dimitri started to protest, but even Seteth said, “Dimitri, we will take care of her. I promise you, no harm will come to her.”

Dedue took his shoulder. “Come,” he said quietly. “You will feel better after a warm bath and some clean clothes.” He looked at Felix and Sylvain. “Will you join us?”

“We’ll go when you’re back,” Felix said. “I’ll keep an eye on Byleth while you’re gone.”

* * *

An hour later, they walked through the darkened monastery grounds, hair damp, skin clean, and dressed in dry clothes. Dimitri tightened a clean vest around his shirt. “It’s cold at night.”

“At least it is an expected cold,” Dedue said.

“Yes, it is.”

They climbed the stairs to the infirmary, found Manuela on her way out the door. “Oh, there you are. Her Grace is resting. Sylvain and Felix just left; Seteth and Mercedes were on their way to the dining hall to see if there’s any food left. You must all be starving. Do you want to join us?”

Dimitri shook his head.

“I will bring you something,” Dedue said.

Dimitri thanked him. When Dedue had gone, he looked at Manuela. The physician gave him a gentle smile. “Considering what she’s been through, she’s mostly exhausted. The few cuts and bruises I found are all healed, and those awful fingermarks on her neck are gone.” Manuela scowled briefly. “Bastard. I hope he got what he deserved.”

“He did. Felix saw to it.”

“Good. I wouldn’t normally say such a thing, but good riddance. I still have a lot of questions about what exactly happened, but I’m glad Her Grace is safe and sound.” The physician brushed her hair behind her ears. “I expect she’ll sleep quite a bit the next few days; I’m exhausted looking at her. I’d like to keep her here overnight, just in case anything changes.”

“I’ll stay here.”

Manuela winked. “I thought you’d say that. I asked Mercedes to stop by during the night. She’ll try not to wake you.”

“You assume I’ll sleep.” His voice sounded far away to his own ears.

Manuela gave him a sympathetic look. “I’ve been in love a time or three in my life,” she said. “It does things to you.”

“It does,” he agreed.

She smiled warmly, and left him alone.

He closed the door behind her, walked into the room, and sat on the cot beside Byleth. She lay on her back, eyes closed, hair fanned out on the pillow. He took his boots off, and, since there was no one there to tell him otherwise, he gently lifted her head and upper body as he sat beside her. She mumbled, and her arm draped around his legs, her head rested against his chest.

He laid his hand on her back, traced slow circles with his fingers. Manuela and Mercedes had changed her clothes while he was gone; she wore a simple white infirmary robe, and her skin and hair were as clean as possible. He smiled when she muttered, “I adore that woman, but I thought she’d never leave.”

“You heard all of that?”

She nodded.

He kissed her forehead. She was warm against him, comfortable. He ran his fingers gently through her hair, dragging slow furrows through the strands. She adjusted her dangling arm, rested her hand on his hip.

They sat in silence, lost in the simple act of being alone with each other.

Softly, Byleth spoke: “I feel fine.”

“I didn’t want to ask.”

“Why?”

He half-shrugged. “It’s a foolish question. How could you be fine after all of that? How could anyone?” He twisted her hair around his fingers, mindful not to tangle it.

“Did something happen while you were looking for me?”

“Why do you ask?”

He felt her shift, and found her peering up at him. “I vaguely remember you bringing me back. Your face… why were you covered in blood?”

Dimitri gave her a half-smile. He brushed her hair out of her eyes. _Her beautiful pale green eyes. May I never see them turn blue again._

“I lost myself today,” he admitted. “For a moment, I feared I’d lost you, and then I thought Dedue was gone, too. I… I lost myself.”

“Did you avenge him?”

“I did. Those poor souls didn’t deserve what I did to them, but, I suppose they served the man who hurt you. In which case, they did deserve it.” He stroked her cheek. “Do you know who he was?”

“A ghost, I think.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No. He just wanted what made me warm.” She shuddered. “Saying it aloud, I still don’t really understand what happened. One moment, I was me, and then, then it was like I was trapped in my own head, trapped in my body. I could see and think, but I couldn’t _feel_ anything.”

He untangled his fingers from her hair, cradled the back of her head. “Can you feel me now, beloved?” he murmured. He took her hand, rested it over his heart. “Do you feel this?”

She nodded, spread her fingers over his chest.

Softly, she said, “I was lost in the woods, but you found me.”

“Of course,” he said. “I will always find you. That’s what we promised.”

She shivered. “When you found me, I knew your face, but nothing else.” She swallowed. “He said he didn’t need to touch me, he just wanted to. And after he did, I was just cold and empty, there was nothing in me. Everything I was, all the things that make me who I am, he took it away from me.”

“You were cold,” he murmured.

“I never want to feel that cold ever again.”

He gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, Byleth. I’m sorry I didn’t get there faster.”

She lifted her head, pale green eyes tired and hazy. Her smile was equally exhausted. “Will you stay?”

“Do you need to ask?”

“No, I wanted to.” She closed her eyes, and settled against him. “I love you, my heart,” she mumbled.

“I love you,” he murmured, kissed top of her head.

**_She is your soul._ **

“She is,” he whispered to the darkness.

**_Perhaps you should take care you don’t lose her again._ **

* * *

The following afternoon, Manuela gave her assessment on Byleth’s condition. The Archbishop sat propped up against a few plump pillows. Mercedes had helped her to the bathhouse that morning, and she felt immensely better after a bath and a soak, though she was still exhausted. She wanted to sleep, perhaps just sit in a comfortable chair, but instead she grew increasingly annoyed as Manuela talked about her, and not to her.

Manuela wasn’t meaning to be rude, but she seemed to keep forgetting her patient was awake. “Between Mercedes and me, I think we’ve just about put her back together, not to mention the rest of you,” she said proudly

Seteth peered at Byleth for confirmation. “How do you feel?”

“I feel much better,” Byleth said. “Thank you.”

“We’re fine,” Sylvain said, smiling his carefree smile. “You know us, we bounce back.”

“You do,” Manuela agreed, “but from what Dimitri told us, what Her Grace went through was serious. Magical attacks aren’t quite as easy to recover from as regular injuries. Let me know if any of you feel unwell in the next few days, and keep a close eye on her. If she shows any of the signs she did in the woods, let me know.”

Byleth grimaced from her cot. “Manuela, you know I can hear you, right?”

Seteth said, “Her caution is warranted.”

“Not when I’m sitting right here.”

“It is rude to talk about people like they aren’t in the room,” Mercedes agreed. She smiled at Byleth, made eye contact. “When I checked on you last night, everything seemed fine. I did one last healing while you slept, but I think whatever magic he used is long gone. I’ll bet you’re tired, though.”

Byleth nodded. “Very.”

”Our bodies naturally heal, so I think that’s all this is. You just need a good night’s rest.” Mercedes looked thoughtful. “Magical injuries are complicated. I know how to use magic to heal, but what about the opposite? I can use black magic, but hurting people with magic could backfire on me, so I have to be careful. Magic can leave invisible marks, so if you feel anything other than tired, let me know, please.”

“I feel better,” Byleth insisted.

Mercedes smiled. “I’m glad. Just promise to tell me if you feel otherwise.”

Byleth nodded.

Sylvain shivered. “Trust me, Mercedes, your black magic and the kind that hurt Her Grace? Different things.” He grimaced. “I’m glad that mage is dead.”

Manuela sighed. “Mercedes has a point; magic lingers, no matter the status of the caster. If anything is out of the ordinary, anything strange, tell us and—"

“Is no one listening when I say I feel fine?” Byleth demanded.

Seteth folded his arms. “We are listening to you, Your Grace. We are still concerned, though. You’ve been through a shocking experience.”

“It was certainly an experience, Seteth. I wouldn’t call it shocking.”

“Magic leaves a mark, Your Grace.”

“So do blades and arrows,” she said tartly, “but I don’t see you fussing over Hayden like this.”

“Hayden has recovered. He is still resting, but he was not attacked by magic.”

Byleth sat up straighter, masking a wince at the residual aches and pains. “Seteth, I’m fine. I don’t feel well enough to dance, but I feel well enough to not be in this infirmary any longer.”

“We still haven’t begun to understand what happened.”

“Maybe I’m not interested in reliving it again,” Byleth snapped.

“We will have to talk about that, and—”

“Talk about _what?_ We have all dealt with dark magic. It is vile, ugly, and it hurts.” She scowled. “I am no more or less than I was two days ago. My friends saved me, they brought me back. We can speak in greater detail at another time, but right now, I am tired, I want to rest, and I want you to speak to me if you have something to say.”

“I am speaking to you,” Seteth said.

Byleth narrowed her eyes at him.

Dimitri hadn’t spoken a word since all day. When he did, Seteth jumped: “Seteth, if you don’t want to deal with me later, you will listen to my wife when she talks, and you as well, Manuela. This has been a difficult experience for all of us, and your dismissal of Byleth is not helping her heal.”

“Your Majesty, I respect your intention, but—”

Byleth said, “Didn’t we just have a discussion about strength and power, and what makes us truly strong?”

She reached her hand for Dimitri, who took it, and stood beside her.

Seteth maintained eye contact for several minutes. Finally, he said, “You are correct. I apologize, Your Grace. My concerns got the better of me.”

“So, you’re going to listen to her?” Felix shot back.

Manuela glared at him. “Listen here, the Archbishop—”

“Is a human being,” Felix snapped. “Talk to her like she’s a person, not your bloody archbishop.” He raised a finger. “And stop talking about her like she and Dimitri aren’t sitting right there.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Byleth said. “If anyone presumes to speak for me, if I cannot speak for myself, it will be my husband. No one else. At this time, I am perfectly capable of speaking on my own behalf. Are we quite clear on that?”

Dimitri nodded. “My wife and I are of a mind on this. Respect her wishes, please.”

Manuela looked at Byleth. “Your Grace, really.”

“Last I checked, I _am_ a human being,” Byleth said tartly.

Manuela blushed. “Listen, don’t make me worry over you, and I won’t—"

Seteth interrupted. “Let us start over. Your Grace. Byleth. We were all terribly concerned. His Majesty brought you back to us unconscious, and with signs of magical injury. Those wounds are healed, and we are concerned about your well-being beyond the physical.”

“I see. And what wounds are beyond the physical, Seteth?”

“Those of the mind and spirit.”

She glared. “So, you want to have this conversation in front of a room full of people, is that it?”

Seteth pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, no, I do not. I apologize, Your Grace, this is inappropriate.” He sighed. “Everyone’s emotions are far too high right now.”

“What a luxury emotion is, Seteth,” Byleth said sarcastically. “For about half a day, I could not feel a damned emotion, nor anything else. Tell me again what high emotion looks like.”

Seteth managed to look contrite.

Manuela folded her arms. “This whole conversation has gotten out of hand.” She looked at Byleth. “You want a clean bill of health? Rest for a few days. Just relax and take it easy on yourself. I’ll check on you every day – only once, I promise not to fuss over you – and so long as those magic wounds don’t show any sign of coming back or causing trouble for you, we can go back to pretending like this never happened.”

“Oh, we’ll all remember,” Felix grumbled.

“I’ve got my nightmares sorted for the next month, at least,” Sylvain chimed in.

Mercedes frowned. “You said you killed the man who did this.”

“What of it?” Felix asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just that magic like that, _people_ like that, they don’t tend to stay dead.”

Felix waved his hand. “This isn’t one of your ghost stories. I killed him, Mercedes. He’s dead; he bled like any normal man. His magic is gone. The dead don’t come back, and they don’t hurt the living.” He glanced at Dimitri as he said it, but his friend ignored the comment.

“Well, so long as he can’t hurt anybody like that again,” Manuela said disdainfully. “Dark magic isn’t something anyone here needs to use, but we maybe we could study and understand it, we can better defend against it.” She looked at Byleth. “I don’t want anyone to have a chance to hurt you like that again.”

“No one will,” Byleth assured her.

“No one needs to study dark magic,” Felix said sharply.

“Not for personal use,” Manuela argued. “However, if there’s one mage like him, there could be others. If someone like him shows up again, we should be prepared.” She looked at Seteth. “You agree, don’t you?”

Seteth folded his arms. “I do,” he said, “but at the same time, I want to take our friends at their word. If the man is dead, then the threat is gone. Her Grace is safe, and she is on the road to recovery. My knights surveyed the Verzhed Woods briefly this morning, and even Padraic came back from the western edge reporting a change in the area. He said it feels clean.”

“Still, if someone like that man comes back—"

“He was one of a kind,” Dimitri interrupted.

They all stared at him.

He didn’t take his gaze off of Byleth. “He was one man, and he’s dead. He was unique. His magic was unique. I’m confident that we eliminated it, and we did so because of what he did with it. We’ll never know how many he killed, nor who he was.” He slowly looked at Felix. “You said it yourself, you didn’t care who he was. I don’t care, either.” His eye drifted to Manuela. “Your opinion is Byleth is fine?”

“Physically, yes. Right now, I think she’s just exhausted.”

“Manuela,” Byleth said, exasperated. “I am _right here_. We _just_ talked about this.”

Manuela gave her a tired smile. “Sorry, sorry, dear, I just… well, you’ve had me quite worried.”

“I know, but, just trust me, please, when I tell you that I am all right. I will _be_ all right.”

Dimitri interrupted. “Can I take her to her room?”

“I don’t see why not, but we really should give you one last examination, and… oh, never mind.” Manuela shook her head at Byleth’s sour expression.

“Please get me out of here,” Byleth requested.

Dimitri took her hand. “Can you walk?”

She sighed. “Not with any confidence.”

“Then hold on.”

She pushed the blanket back, looped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her up.

Without another word from either of them, he carried her up the stairs to her chambers. Once they were out of earshot, she muttered, “I am so tired, and all they want to do is _talk_.”

He chuckled softly. “They are worried, beloved.”

“I’m not some fragile doll for them to watch over.”

“No,” he agreed, “but you do need watching over.”

She rewarded him with a soft laugh. “Only if it’s you, love. Only if it’s you.”

He paused on the stairs, and kissed her. She returned it, warmer than he remembered. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for coming after me.”

“I told you, I always will. You would do the same for me. Now, let’s get you to bed. Rest some more, and we will talk in the morning.”

She was already drifting off by the time he laid her in her bed. He tucked her in beneath the quilt, and found the great ginger cat waiting for an opportunity to join her. Dimitri kissed her forehead, brushed her hair out of her face. When he stepped back, the cat crawled over Byleth, turned around three times, and curled up against her chest.

“Very good,” Dimitri said quietly, as he sat in the corner chair and took his boots off. “You’ll have two guards tonight, beloved.”

He would watch over her in the peace and quiet for a while. They both needed the quiet most of all.


	16. Chapter 16

Evening rolled around, and Dimitri watched Byleth sleep. The earlier argument in the infirmary had worn her out more than he’d thought, and she slept as soundly as ever. Exhaustion did strange things to the body. He knew that well enough; he’d forced himself to take a brisk walk down the stairs and around the monastery, just to ease his fraying nerves.

When he returned, the enormous ginger cat was still curled against her chest, paws tucked, purring contentedly. With that beast at her side, she couldn’t be safer or more secure.

He wished he felt the same security. He kept expecting the man in white to appear, or to see the life fade from Byleth’s body again. He dreaded the possibility of her opening her eyes, and seeing blue, not pale green.

Felix interrupted his grim thoughts. “You’re brooding, boar. Brooding kings are the stuff tragedies are written about.”

Dimitri snorted. “You always offer such good perspectives, Felix.”

“I do try.” Felix held up two glasses and a bottle. He poured a rich red wine into the glasses, and handed one to Dimitri. “I’ll have you know that I had to promise Seteth personal fencing lessons to get my hands on this.”

“How generous of you.”

“I told him he wasn’t being fair. He technically owes all four of us a massive favor for not only rescuing his Archbishop, but for making that forest safe.”

“And what did he say?”

Felix rolled his eyes, did a passable imitation of Seteth: “’Now, Master Fraldarius, that’s simply what any good knight would do.’”

“He did not.”

“He did. Cheeky bastard.”

Dimitri snorted a laugh, leaned against the door frame, sipped his wine. He lowered his glass. “What is this?”

“An Almyran red, 1158.”

“Are there any more?”

“There are three. I plan to box them up and take them back to Fhirdiad. You can have one to share with Her Grace, and I’ll keep the other two at my estate. Save it for a special occasion. No one here appreciates good wine, anyway.” He grinned around the rim of his glass. “Except for Manuela, and she doesn’t have to know this stuff was in the cellar.”

Dimitri rewarded him with a smile. “You cunning devil, you.”

“I try.” Felix glanced at Byleth. “How is she?”

“She hasn’t woken since this afternoon.”

“Yes. Apologies if I made things difficult.”

“No, thank you for stepping in.” Dimitri rubbed his fingers absently against his chest. “I mean it, I… I was having trouble listening to them.”

Felix arched an eyebrow.

“I was very close to losing my temper.”

“I see. And what are you feeling now?”

Dimitri looked at his hand. “There’s a monster in here,” he said quietly. “I think you, Byleth, and Dedue are the only ones who really see it, but it’s in here.” He looked at Felix. “It came out when we were in the forest. You saw it.”

“I did, and, as I said then: I’m grateful knowing you’ll hunt down our enemies.”

“I’m being serious, Felix.”

“So am I, boar. I’ve told you before, we may need that monster someday. Keep it in check until then.”

“You say it like it’s that easy.”

“Perhaps you make it look easy.” Felix looked at his friend. “I hate the thing inside you. I hate it because of what it turned you into. I lost one of my best friends that day in Duscur, and it took me years to see him again. Something stole his soul, and it took someone braver and better than me to help him take it back.”

“Felix.”

“I’ve told you before, she’s your match in every way.”

“You have.”

Quietly, Felix added, “I can only imagine what you’ll do if someone ever actually kills her.”

Dimitri couldn’t help himself. “You mean you won’t leap at the chance to put me out of my misery?”

“No,” Felix replied. “I’ll join you in hunting her killers down.”

Dimitri stared at him.

“Don’t look so surprised. She’s your wife, but she’s my friend. I look after my friends.” Felix gave him a small smile. “That includes you, boar. So, if the notion ever strikes you to raise hell in her name, make sure you take me with you.”

“What about Sylvain?”

“Oh, he’ll leap at the chance. I wager Dedue will lead the charge alongside you, so you need me as the solitary sane man among us.”

Dimitri raised his glass. “May it be so. Should it ever come to pass.”

Felix tapped it with a soft _tink._ “I’m talking nonsense, of course. You’re a sensible, content boar these days, and after what we’ve just been through, you deserve some sanity. I hear lovers are good for that sort of thing.”

Dimitri smiled knowingly.

“Shut up, boar.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Felix smiled admiringly at Byleth. “She’s tougher than even I gave her credit for, and I gave her quite a bit to begin with. Despite what the fools downstairs think, she’ll be fine.”

“She will.”

“What about you? Be honest with me. Right now, how are you?”

Dimitri shrugged. “I have a headache that won’t go away, but I suspect that’s tension and stress.”

“Yes, you don’t have enough of that. Might I suggest you try something other than those things whenever you see your wife?” Felix sipped his wine. “Maybe take a long ride together, go for a walk. Do something normal.”

Dimitri chuckled. “Married couples do other things, Felix.”

“I’m going to ignore you for saying that.”

“Jealous?”

Felix grinned. “Why did she marry you again?”

“Apparently she likes insane men.”

“Well, what do you know, I’m looking at one.”

They toasted one another. Felix looked at Byleth’s sleeping form again. His face took on a somber expression. “For a moment,” he said, “I thought we’d lost her again.”

“Me, too.”

“That must have been hell for you.”

“Yesterday was hell.”

“Agreed.”

Dimitri sighed. “I want to say ‘let’s never do that again,’ but with our luck…”

“Hush. You’ll ruin what I’m about to say with that talk.”

“Oh?”

Felix nodded. “Do you remember that hunting trip Sylvain mentioned a long time ago? Back in spring.”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, he’s got it in his head that we should actually do it this winter.”

“Enjoy that. You’ve earned it.”

“What would you say to you, Byleth, and Dedue joining us?”

“That’s a big party.”

“Hence why I’m mentioning it: Sylvain remembered your family’s old estate down south by the sea. It would be perfect for a winter hunting lodge.”

Dimitri thought for a moment. “That would be nice,” he said. “I told her about it once, but I haven’t been there in years. I know Rodrigue took care of the upkeep, but I don’t know what kind of shape it’s in now. It would need a lot of work, especially with two years’ worth of dust built up.” He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure how long we could take, though. With our arrangements—”

“That’s the other part,” Felix said. “And, keep in mind, this entire madcap idea came from Sylvain. I will take no responsibility for it.”

Amused, Dimitri said, “I’m listening.”

“Well, Sylvain and I were discussing your marital arrangements. This back and forth nonsense can’t continue. Given the past year, which has been one thing after another, I think it’s high time you told Seteth and his Church of Seiros that you and Byleth need some time, and I mean _real_ time, together.” Felix inhaled. “A winter hunting trip isn’t predictable. It can last weeks. So, what Sylvain suggested, and I agree with – don’t tell him this; I will deny any knowledge of this conversation – is that Byleth come to Fhirdiad for winter.”

“She’ll be there during the Red Wolf Moon, I think. There’s already a plan.”

“No, boar, I mean for the _entirety_ of winter.”

Dimitri frowned. “That’s… four months.”

“It is.”

“What about Seteth and the Church?”

“What about them? This isn’t about them. This is about our King and Queen finally having an extended period of time – outside of a war – in one another’s company.”

Dimitri looked uncertain.

Felix placed a hand on his shoulder. “Dimitri, listen to me. You need her; you love her, any of us can see that. It is _killing_ you to not have her at your side every day.” He smiled faintly. “You need time, boar. The Church will go on without her for four months. They’ve made it this long; they can respect their Archbishop enough to let her live her own life for four bloody months.”

“A hunting trip can last weeks, huh?”

“It can.”

Dimitri raised his glass. “I’ll talk to her when she wakes up.”

Felix tapped his glass. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

“Will she?” Dimitri wondered.

Felix scoffed. “Wipe that sly smile off your face, boar. You don’t fool me. She’ll leap at the chance.”

“You’re right. She will.”

“I expect a full report on her conversation with Seteth. If she make the cheeky bastard squirm, I demand to hear about it.”

“So, you’re not giving him personal fencing lessons, eh?”

“Not where anyone can see me. If he wants lessons, he’ll have to come to my estate. I won’t have his knights studying my every move.” Felix took a drink. “Besides, I’ll have two extra bottles of Almyra red, 1158. I’ll bring them on our hunting trip.”

“I thought you said they were for special occasions.”

“Breaking with tradition, spending time with friends, and having a grand adventure _are_ special occasions.”

“Hopefully not too grand an adventure.”

“Boar, as long as I follow you, there will never be a boring adventure.”

Dimitri smirked. “You say that now. Just watch, we’ll have a perfectly pleasant, boring hunting trip. We’ll drink good wine, hunt our dinners, Dedue will cook incredible meals for us, and we’ll talk and laugh and drink, long into the night.”

“I will drink to that,” Felix said.

They finished their wine, and Felix took the empty glasses. “Don’t stay up too late, Your Majesty. My skin is already itching with this place. What are the odds of Her Grace joining us in Fhirdiad?”

Dimitri shrugged. “I don’t know, yet. I might stay here, until she’s back on her feet.”

“A wise decision. Seteth seems amenable to respecting her need to heal. Hopefully the rest of them will be the same.” Felix bowed his head. “Good night, boar.”

“Good night, Felix.”

Felix turned his back.

“Felix?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The Almyra red, 1158, of course.” Dimitri smiled. “And the company. I need a sensible voice from time to time.”

“You have a wife for that. I’m just your advisor who won’t put up with your foolishness unless I absolutely have to.” Felix turned, grinned at him. “You’re right, you know, you do have a monster under your skin, but so do I, so does she, so do all of us. The point is that you know you do, and that madness kept us focused and alive in those woods. We’ve all got a touch of it, and now we know what we can do with it.”

“I couldn’t have saved her without you.”

“Without you, Sylvain might be dead,” Felix responded.

Dimitri remembered. “He couldn’t fall. If he fell, he would never get up. I couldn’t let that happen.” He bowed his head. “He forgave me a long time ago for that fight we had when I wasn’t really myself. I don’t know that I ever forgave me for it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve never forgiven you.”

“Well, I knew that.”

“Until now. You saved his life this time.” Felix’s mouth twitched when he smiled, and Dimitri realized his friend’s eyes were filmed with tears. “When I realized he was going to fall, I knew I wasn’t fast enough. I wouldn’t get there in time. All I could think was he would fall, he’d die, and I would never see him again. I’d never open my door at midnight, I’d never find him in a tavern, drinking and flirting, and being obnoxious as ever. I thought, for one moment, that he’d fall, and I would lose one of the only people I have left.”

“Are you ever going to tell him?” Dimitri wondered.

“That I was terrified I’d lose him?” Felix shook his head. “I don’t know how to tell him. You and Byleth have a language all your own for love and loss. I don’t have that.”

“I wouldn’t want to teach you.”

“Then don’t.” Felix raised his arm, wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Sylvain and I promised each other when we were young: we’d die together. I’d die for him, and he’d do the same for me. You and Byleth, Sylvain and me, we have that in common. We’d die for the people we love most.”

Dimitri nodded.

Felix smiled faintly. “We didn’t die on this little adventure, boar. I’m not interested in dying anytime soon. I want us to go hunting together. I want us to sit in front of a roaring fire, with good food, good wine, and our good friends. I want that life for us, even if just for a short while.”

“Four months, huh?”

“Four months. Convince her.”

“I don’t think it will take much.”

“Good.” Felix raised the empty wine bottle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to pilfer the rest of this excellent vintage. 1158 really was a good year.”

“When did you become so devious?”

“When I followed you into a war and came out the other side.” Felix nodded to him. “Get some sleep, boar. Talk to your wife. Make sure that ginger beast doesn’t smother her.”

On cue, the ginger cat poked its head out of the bedroom and uttered a cranky _mrow_ at them both. It looked between them, as if to say: _it is late, you half-drunk fools._

Dimitri crouched, stroked the cat’s ears. “You really are a ginger beast, Jeralt.”

“You did not just call that cat what I think you called it.”

“Byleth named it.”

Felix snickered. “Good night, boar. Good night, ginger beast.” He descended the stairs.

Dimitri wavered on his feet, feeling the rich red wine. His headache wasn’t gone, but it was easier to ignore. He walked into the bedroom; the cat trotted after him, leapt onto the bed, and took up its post at the foot of the bed. Confident in the furry sentry, Dimtri petted the cat.

He walked to the wardrobe, found a pair of sleeping pants and shirt, changed his clothes. He untied his eyepatch, dropped it on the bedside table, along with the tie for his hair. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, then he pulled back the quilt, and joined Byleth.

He drew her close to him, wrapped one arm around her middle, folded the other beneath her shoulders. He kissed her temple, and settled his head on the pillow. He felt her warm body, heard her soft breathing. His eye felt heavy, and his exhausted body and aching head cried out for rest, silence, and the calm of sleep.

In the morning, he would tell her Felix and Sylvain’s plan. He knew she would say ‘yes.’ Perhaps winter, strangely enough, would be the warmest season of the year.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face, a calmed mind and heart, and his love in his arms.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... we are done!
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have read, left kudos, and comments. I am having a blast writing this series, and I am so glad so many of you have joined me for the ride.
> 
> We have one more season to get through. Winter is coming... in about two or three weeks.


End file.
